


Changeling

by Obscurus343



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, And Gets One, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Partners, Auror!Draco, Because it's me, Comedy, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Family, Feels, Flashbacks to past abuse, Fluff, Friendship, HP: EWE, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Magical Creatures, Mentions of past abuse, Modesty is also cute, Mutual Pining, Mystery/Suspense, Obscurial, Obscurus, Pining Draco, Pining Harry, Queenie and Jacob are cute, Romance, Snark, a lot of feelings, albeit a little morbid, also a lot of swearing, and a friendship that's just as important, auror!Harry, basically everything, like a lot, made-up magic, of sorts, some violence, they're idiots in love what can you do, unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-29 01:55:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 86,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12620548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurus343/pseuds/Obscurus343
Summary: The assignment seems to be an excuse to get the Boy Who Lived away from the press for a while – Head Auror Savage is human, after all.  But when they arrive to Barebone Castle, Aurors Potter and Malfoy realize that something sinister may indeed be going on. It's terrifying.  It's cursed.  It's some next level freaky shit that nobody can explain.But not to worry!  Two lovestruck idiots are on the case.





	1. Chapter 1

“Is this it?” 

               The question hung in the dusty, stale air of the cab. 

“Aye, sir,” the cabbie replied.  “Sorry, that’s as far as the road will go – you’ll have to foot it from here.” 

“How far is it?” 

               The man scratched the stubble on his chin before extending his knobbly finger toward the mountain range.  It projected a bold, north-bound course between the rising cliffs.  A tentative footpath crawled upwards through the grasses, like a trail from an overly ambitious slug. 

“S’about three kilometers up the path, you’ll see it,” he promised with the confident air of a trusty local. 

“Oh, Potty,” drawled another voice.  “Will a naïve little boy like you brave the ordeal?” 

“It’s Potter,” grunted Harry, pushing open the cab door.  “And height has nothing to do with innocence, so yeah, I will.” 

               Stretching with a little groan, he headed over to the back of the car and bent over it to feel for the ever-elusive boot button. 

“Huh.  So, what you’re saying is, if you _were_ innocent and naïve, you wouldn’t make the journey?”  His partner asked lazily, stepping out as well and closing the door on his own side. 

“What, in such shady company as yourself?” Harry grinned.  “Hardly – bingo.” 

He snapped the boot open triumphantly.

“You wound me.  You drive a sword through my heart.”   

“Oh, so you have one, then?  I’d wondered.” 

“You have a brain to wonder with?..  Could’ve fooled me,” Malfoy snorted. 

               Harry gave a grunt as he hauled at the smooth leather handle. 

“Here’s your suitcase.” 

“I would’ve sworn this thing’s too heavy to – whatever,” Malfoy grabbed hold of it and turned back to the cabbie.  “So, you said just follow the path until we see the place, right?” 

“That’s right, sir,” he nodded, his brogue suddenly thickening.  “Best of luck to ye – they say there’s more to these crags than meets the eye…” 

“Uh?” 

“Cursed, they say,” the man bowed his head solemnly.  “It’s all the castle, you know.  All at the castle.” 

               They stared at each other for a few tense moments, their awkward triangular standoff witnessed only by the desolate rocks.  Finally, Harry broke the silence. 

“We’re not paying for a return ride, pal.  Not until three weeks are up.” 

               The cabbie flashed him a brilliant smile. 

“Was worth a try,” he shrugged.  “For what it’s worth, I’m still fairly certain the curse is real, though – so aye, best of luck to ye.”

               The car rustled around and sped off, leaving behind a whiff of bluish fumes as the last farewell of humanity.  Their stench seemed alien and wrong in the wind-swept valley, but it was soon gone and the wilderness was restored. 

“Weirdo,” Harry decided, gazing after the quickly shrinking vehicle.  He pushed up his glasses. 

“You’re telling me.” 

“I wonder if that trick ever worked.” 

“I don’t know, I’m quite convinced…  Then again, I have you to protect me.  My hero.  Ready to shield me from any danger, aren’t you, Saviour?” 

“ _Malfoy_.  Seriously, cut it out.” 

“All that shit just now and it’s the nickname that gets you going?..  My, my.” 

               Harry laughed, pulling up his own black suitcase.

“Shut up.  Anyway, I’d like to find the castle today, so hurry up.  Princess.” 

“M’not a princess,” Malfoy grunted. 

“Alright.  Generic rich kid who had thirty house-elves growing up,” Harry grinned, and turned around, making his way towards the twisting trail. 

“Ha-ha, bloody ha.  Don’t act like you’re going to enjoy lugging a full suitcase up a fucking mountain.  We can’t even use magic, it’s Muggle territory!” 

“True.  But it’s just three K, we’ll manage.  Quit whining.” 

               They set off, following the barely existing path to the hills.  The sky was heavy with moisture.  Grey clouds moved across it with a regal gait – wild, ragged, beautiful, and above all, ominous. 

 

               The bell on the door gave a merry ding as it swung open into the polished interior of Barebone Castle.  Dark wood rose to the plaster ceiling, carved and intricate in its simplicity as it covered almost every surface.  The floor glinted dimly in the evening light. 

“Huh.  Neat.” 

“Just what I was hoping for,” Malfoy decided with a satisfied smile. 

“I don’t know,” Harry frowned.  “Doesn’t the twilight seem a little…  Oppressive?” 

“No.  It’s perfect,” he grinned.  “And besides, it’s almost seven.  You can’t expect it to be sunny, Potty.  The place is completely deserted, though…”

“I’m sorry – I’m right here, I’ll, I’ll be with you in a moment!” 

               The voice bounced across the walls, followed closely by hurried footsteps, and a young man stumbled into the room.  He belonged in it so well, it was as if he materialized there in a cloud of smoke.  

“Hi – sorry again,” he panted, taking his place behind the cluttered reception desk. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s really no bother,” Harry said.   _Corners of mouth up.  Open gaze.  Relax eyebrows._  “Hi.” 

               The boy’s – man’s – face twitched into an awkward smile, and he looked down quickly.  His hand went up to fidget with a strand of his dark hair. 

“Uh.  Hi,” he repeated.  “So, how can I help you?” 

               Harry cast his partner a quick glance, but found him leaning lazily on a chiseled pillar, a far-away look in his eyes, and a maddening, smug smirk dancing on his lips.  Harry gave a mental groan, willing himself to unclench his jaw. 

               _It’s been a long day but you can do this._

“Um, we had two rooms reserved here?  For three weeks, starting today.” 

               He gave another smile.  The receptionist pulled out a large leather binder and flipped it open.  The pages rustled around the wide metal rings, strikingly white in the dark reception hall.  Malfoy yawned elegantly behind them. 

“Y-yes, you did – Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?” 

“Yeah, that’s us,” he agreed. 

“Great – this will only take a minute,” he promised.  “Uh, I’ll need you both to sign here – and, uh, I’ll need some form of picture ID – ” 

“Right – of course, hold on, I’ll just get it out – ”

               He fumbled with his pockets, while Malfoy finally deigned to approach the desk, pulling out his own papers with that single fluid motion that drove Harry nuts.  Why was it even legal to be this smooth?..  

“It’s a charming place,” Malfoy remarked casually.  “Antique décor, too.” 

“Hasn’t changed in decades,” the receptionist admitted.  “I’ve got a restoration expert coming in, we’re still rebuilding the larger part of the castle…  Sign here too?” 

“Of course…  There.” 

“Perfect – that’s all done then – I’ll show you to your rooms, let me just get the keys – ”

               Fumbling again as he stuffed the binder back into its drawer, he edged from behind the desk and led them up the winding staircase.  His hand barely grazed the polished carvings of the banisters as the steps climbed on, the two sets of keys jangling quietly in his fingers. 

               He paused right outside the landing, where a warmly lit hallway extended into the depths of the building, and pushed open a heavy door – dark polished wood, like everything else. 

“Mr. Malfoy – that’s yours.  And Mr. Potter, you’re just there across the hall, third door.  Call me if you need anything.”

“Wait – about that,” Harry interrupted him just as he stepped back onto the landing.  “Sorry, we never did catch your name?” 

               Their host turned around quickly. 

“What – oh.  I’m sorry, I forgot to, uh – sorry,” he faltered, and his fingers picked up their fidgeting again. “I’m Credence Barebone.  I’m the, uh, the owner.” 

               Harry felt his face heat up in embarrassment. 

“Oh – oh, that’s great – um – ”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” 

“Uh.  I guess…  It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Barebone,” Harry said finally.  He would swear he could feel Malfoy’s amusement wafting past.    

“Please, call me Credence,” he interjected.  “I…  I don’t like my last name much.”  

“Okay,” Harry nodded, and grinned.  “I’ll remember.” 

               Credence smiled back – another small twitch of his mouth, almost as if he wasn’t used to it moving that way. 

“Thank you,” he said.  “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes.” 

               He turned and descended back into the shadows of the reception floor.  Harry watched his head slowly disappear behind the curve of the steps, and then whipped around with a glare. 

“You.  You were supposed to be the one talking to people, you prick.” 

“And where’s the fun in that?..”  Malfoy drawled, raising his eyebrows.  “Everybody knows that my manners are already perfect, and you obviously need to practice.  The way I see it, I’m doing you a favour.” 

“I don’t want your bloody favours, Malfoy,” Harry muttered tiredly, following him into the room. 

“Exactly.  That’s what makes my actions so selfless,” Malfoy said, dumping his suitcase near the bed.  “Now quit glaring, Potter, it feels like an icy dagger stabbing through my ribs.” 

“You deserve it.  Anyway, just thank your rich, pasty ancestors I liked him.” 

               Malfoy lifted his eyes to the ceiling in theatrical reverence before falling on the mattress. 

“Goodness me!  A miracle!  The department hermit liked another human being…  Really?” 

“Yeah,” Harry decided, and flopped down next to him.  “He’s odd.” 

“Naturally.  How could I forget, you’re the famed friend of all the fucking oddities on this planet.”

“I guess you’re right.” 

               Malfoy stared at the ceiling silently for a moment. 

“Seriously?” he asked finally. 

“Well, I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”  Harry grinned.  “Ow!” 

               He rolled over on his back, laughing quietly. 

               The wind was picking up outside, and the open window creaked under its gusts.  The air was thick with the scent of imminent rain. 

“You know, the name _Scotland_ comes from Ancient Greek,” Harry mused.  “Hermione told me, before we went.  It means _Dark Country_.  Or something like that.” 

               Malfoy’s chiseled profile seemed unusually soft in the strained evening light, and Harry traced the outline of it with his eyes, again and again.  There was something hypnotizing about it –

“So what?” 

               Malfoy’s voice jolted him back into sleepy reality. 

“Nothing,” Harry sighed.  “It’s fitting, I guess.” 

               The window creaked in agreement. 

“I suppose it is.”

               Malfoy turned his head to face him.  They were inches apart.  Harry’s chest suddenly felt like there was a small furry monster curled up inside of it, asleep – and there was a soft frown of confusion in Malfoy’s features. 

               Harry frowned back. 

“What is it?” 

“Why are you even here?”

“Because the Auror department sent us?..” 

“No, smartarse.  In this room.” 

               Harry pondered the answer before replying.  Malfoy’s grey, stormy eyes were searching his face. 

“I’m too lazy to go to my room right now,” he said finally.  “And this one’s nice.  This…  This is nice.” 

               Malfoy gave a low hum in response.  The dark clouds outside swirled in the rising wind, as if they possessed their own, unfathomable sentience, and the first drops of rain pattered quietly against the windowsill, like silent tears. 

 

“…  Ugh, this is ridiculous.  Potter!  Wake up!” 

“Argh!” 

               Harry came to with a start, almost smacking Malfoy’s forehead with his own.  The window was closed, and the darkness behind it even more prevalent.  The room was lit with the yellowish glow of a table lamp, which reverberated softly off the pale wallpaper.  Malfoy was seated on the bed next to him, with a look of dramatic outrage on his face. 

“W-hat the hell?” Harry inquired, pulling off his glasses.  He breathed at them, squinting, and rubbed at the lenses with the hem of his shirt.  His brain was still swimming somewhere in a sleepy daze, and he yawned, his jaw creaking wide open and nearly falling out of its socket. 

“How decorous of you.” 

“Thanks.” 

               He pushed the glasses back onto his face and stretched.    

“It’s dinnertime,” Malfoy said haughtily.  “And you’ve been asleep for ten minutes.  Properly asleep, though I can’t figure out how.” 

“Oh…  Yeah, sorry.  I do that,” Harry grinned sheepishly. 

               Footsteps scuttled past their door, assaulting the echoing staircase with a series of clicks. 

“You didn’t even check into your room, Potter.  Just barged into mine and fell asleep on my bed.” 

“Oops,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, swinging his legs over to get up.  “You could’ve just told me there’s food, I’d be up the moment I heard – ”

“We’ll miss all the fucking food if we don’t come down right now.  Dinner’s in a minute.”

“Antsy, aren’t we?..  Alright, you know I’d never let you starve.  Come on,” he laughed and headed to the door. 

“With that hair you just slept in?” 

“Yeah.  It always looks like a mess anyway, what are you worried about?” 

“Can I pretend not to know you?” Malfoy asked hopefully, pausing outside to stuff his key in the lock. 

               Harry laughed, waiting for it to click shut. 

“No, Malfoy.  That’s what you get for waking me up,” he grinned cruelly, and almost skipped over to the narrow landing as Malfoy sputtered in outrage behind him. 

               The stairs descended into the dark, deserted hall.  The only evidence of life were the muffled sounds coming from the heavy door in the north wall.  It was open just a little, so that a shining band highlighted its edge – like fairy lights, luring any hungry, helpless residents towards it.  Except fairy lights were meant to be blue, this light was gold – Harry bit at the side of his fingernail in frustration.  Damn it, fairies. 

               Something rustled behind them, and he whipped around.  There was nothing except the heavy silhouetted furniture, but Harry’s pulse pounded for a while anyway, like their footsteps across the floor.  He groaned quietly.  The slightest sound, and he was ready to fucking fight.  Old Mad-Eye would be proud. 

               They approached the door.  Malfoy pushed it open, and it creaked away to reveal several chatting faces, all of which turned towards the newcomers, as if on command. 

“Uh,” Harry managed.  “Hi.” 

               Malfoy scoffed. 

“And that’s why you leave the talking to professionals, Potty,” he said, striding into the room with a perfect smile on his face.  “Good evening.  Do excuse my socially challenged friend.  Whatever I try, he just doesn’t understand how to interact with fellow human beings.” 

“Hey!” Harry protested.  “I know how to…  Human.  Mostly.  I’m getting there.  I think.” 

“And that’s perfectly fine, so don’t worry about it,” an elegant woman smiled good-naturedly.  “We’ve all been there…  I’m Dr.  Jin Bai, by the way – this is my daughter, Modesty.”

               She pointed at the slight girl of about ten, who sat next to her.  Modesty gave a polite nod, her eyes quickly darting over them – sharp and evaluating.  Harry thought for a moment and sat down next to Credence. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Malfoy said courteously and pulled out the chair next to Harry, who nodded along, smiled, and generally tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone.  “I am becoming more optimistic about this holiday by the minute.” 

“Sorry I’m late!” 

               A tall, blond man rushed into the room, his hair wet with rainwater and his face covered with a thick, full beard. 

“I was leaving, I swear – and then remembered that I’d forgotten to close the greenhouses’ roofs for the night – and the storm was coming in like _mad_ – ” he ranted, making straight for the napkins and wiping his hands. 

“It’s alright, Adam,” said Credence quietly.  “You’re not late.” 

“Wha – ?  Oh, good,” Adam exhaled in relief, plonking himself down next to Modesty.  “Hey – you guys are new.” 

               He cast a confused look at Harry and Malfoy. 

“Here on vacation, just arrived,” Malfoy informed him. 

“You’re on vacation, then?” asked Dr. Bai in a rather wistful tone.  “Oh, I wish I was that lucky – I’m here for work…  To evaluate the place for restoration.”  

“Really?  That’s wonderful,” Malfoy told her, his face almost the exact one he used for Hogwarts professors.  “This castle is truly beautiful, it’s a relief to know that it’s not just going to crumble away…” 

“Thank you,” Dr. Bai said with a pleased smile.  “So, you’re the new boys Credence was talking about?” 

               Credence cast her an embarrassed look, but remained silent.  His fingers were fidgeting with his white table napkin, and he seemed completely consumed by the task. 

“We are,” Malfoy confirmed in a regal tone.  “I’m Malfoy.  Draco Malfoy.” 

“Harry,” uttered Harry with a sense of fulfilled duty.  “Harry Potter.” 

“That’s a really pretty name, Draco,” Modesty said appreciatively.  “How long are you staying here?” 

“Three weeks,” said Malfoy.  “Just arrived.” 

“Oh?  I must have missed your arrival, then,” sighed Dr. Bai.  “There’s so much to be done in the North Wing alone…  It’s a miracle you missed the rain.” 

“Well, we did have our cabbie’s blessing, didn’t we?” Harry smirked. 

               Malfoy pressed his lips together to stifle what appeared to be a very unseemly snort, and Harry’s heart roared with satisfaction.  Adam’s beard moved in curiosity.   

“How so?” 

“It’s a massive joke, actually,” Harry admitted.  “We hailed him at the airport, and he took us as far as the road went, right?  But just before we started the hike up here, he gives us this knowing look, and goes, _Wooooo, this place is cursed, so best of luck…”_

               Modesty giggled. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Dead serious.  Like, at first, I think, he was just trying to scam us into paying for a ride back, but then we said we’re going anyway, and he was still bent on it – ”

“Kept on about the castle, and how it’s cursed,” explained Malfoy. 

               Dr. Bai blinked. 

“My goodness.  He really tried to talk you out of coming here?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged.  “The guy was weird.” 

“At least you’ve got a nice story now,” Modesty sighed.  “None of our cabbies were very funny.  The last one smelled like sweaty feet.” 

“Modesty!” 

“It’s alright, Dr. Bai,” Harry chuckled, and leaned slightly forward with a conspiratorial grin.  “To tell the truth, our cabbie smelled too.  Like armpits.” 

               Modesty started giggling again, relaxing against the back of her tall, carved chair.  Dr. Bai attempted to maintain a disapproving expression, but ended up smiling again instead – which somehow made her look much more human.  While previously, she sat perfect and glistening under the scattered light of the ornate chandelier, now she was just another person at the table, and the entire room seemed warmer. 

               Harry stole a glance at Credence, and grinned; another uncertain smile was tugging at his mouth, and Harry checked that off as a victory.  Of sorts. 

“Honestly.  Children, do we have to discuss this at dinnertime?..” Dr. Bai sighed helplessly. 

“Definitely,” said Adam. 

“Absolutely,” confirmed Modesty gleefully.  “Dinner’s not even here yet – Queenie and Jacob are still in the kitchen – ”

“Guess again, kid,” came a voice from the other side of the parlour, and a portly, moustachioed man rounded the corner with a trolley full of food. 

               Modesty twisted around in her chair with a look of pure delight. 

“Lookit, give her food and suddenly it’s like you’re the best person on the planet,” Jacob chuckled, setting the heavy platters on the table. 

“You _are_ the best person on the planet!” 

“Don’t let Queenie hear you,” he grinned. 

“Or your mum,” Harry added. 

               Dr. Bai gave Modesty a pointed look. 

“Or your mum,” Jacob agreed.  “But most of all Queenie.  She worked so hard on that new strudel, it’s practically magic.  I think I’ll have to concede the medal for today.” 

“It hasn’t passed the test yet, honey,” laughed a tall, slender woman as she entered the room.  She pulled out the chair next to Malfoy’s and sat down, the picture of Veela-like grace.  “You know we have to let Modesty decide.” 

“I – I thought I was the best person anyway?..”  Credence asked. 

“You were,” Modesty said.  “But then Jacob made those doughnuts.” 

“That’s fair,” Credence nodded.  “The doughnuts were delicious.” 

               Harry grimly regretted not showing up at Barebone Castle sooner.  Malfoy was wearing a highly amused look, so he poked him in the leg, while Jacob finished positioning a massive dish in the middle of the round table and sat down next to his wife.  He gazed at the plates in appreciation. 

“I suppose we may begin this humble meal,” he said cheerfully. 

               The wind howled like a wounded animal outside. 

“Awesome,” declared Modesty.  She picked up the fork and dug in.  “Oh, and…  Uh, Harry?”

               Harry looked up. 

“What?” 

“What else did the cabbie – ”

“No smelly cabbies at the table, Modesty,” interrupted Dr. Bai. 

               Jacob almost choked on his steak in a futile attempt to mask his guffaw.  Queenie patted his arm sympathetically, the same struggle clear on her face.  Adam was grinning behind his beard.  Credence smiled quietly into his plate. 

“Muuum.  I was asking about the curse!” 

“Uhuh.” 

“I’m serious!  And anyway, _you_ said it was real, so – ”

“Wait, what?”

               Harry perked up and fixed his eyes on Dr. Bai, who lifted her eyes to the ceiling in frustration. 

“I regret ever opening my mouth,” she told the general assembly of people.  “All I said was that there exists a _legend_ about a haunting.  That’s not even a curse, so it’s likely that the story got twisted by hearsay…” 

               The rain clattered and splashed in the dreary night.  Blasts of thunder tore at the shrouded skies.  But within the castle walls, a crystal chandelier cast a tangled pattern of shadows on the table, and the silverware glistened in its warm electric light.   It felt safe. 

“Dr. Bai,” Harry said slowly.  “It is a perfect night for ghost stories.” 

 

               For a moment, everybody gathered around the table was silent, waiting for the expert’s reaction.  Finally, she spoke up. 

“Alright.  There is a legend.  But it belongs to the Barebone family, and I really believe that Credence should do the honours of – ”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he said hastily, still looking down at his plate.  “I’m – I’m not that great at telling stories.  Definitely not as good as you are.” 

“What about the story you told me yesterday?” Modesty piped up. 

               Credence looked up with a little smile. 

“Those were gargoyles,” he said.  “That’s different.” 

               Dr. Bai raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah.  Yes,” he nodded, and turned his attention back to the food. 

               She pursed her lips contemplatively.

“Okay.  That’s alright then, I suppose.” 

“Perfect.  The stage is yours, Dr. Bai,” Malfoy drawled.  “What’s the story, then?” 

               A hush fell over the round table.  Dr. Bai chewed at her food pensively. 

“It’s a strange legend,” she said finally.  “Dating back to the family’s first century in this castle.  The story revolves around a very old myth, a rather disturbing one – ”

“Is there a myth that isn’t?..” Adam muttered.  

               Dr. Bai gave him a wry glance.    

“True,” she conceded.  “I don’t know what this says about humankind in general, but that’s very true.”  

“So, which freaky human creation is the story about?” Harry prompted.  He had to admit, he was curious.  And anyway, this could be evidence for all they knew – or at least some shred of it. 

“A changeling child,” sighed Dr. Bai.  “The whole concept of fairies stealing a human baby and replacing it with one of their own is actually very common, there are stories like that everywhere around the British Isles, in Scandinavia, anywhere, really…” 

“All sharing similar structure and methods of dealing with the fairy folk,” nodded Malfoy. 

“Exactly – except this legend, it’s…  It’s not quite normal.  In most such stories, there’s all kinds of tricks a mother can use to make the fairies return her human baby, and they’re always similar, but this…” 

               She fell silent for a moment, pondering the details.  The rain rushed behind the windows, but the clock’s ticking resounded in the room like a dull drum.  Credence was tugging at his cufflink. 

“When the fairies steal the baby heir from his crib, the mother doesn’t even try to retrieve him by any conventional means.  Instead, she turns to witchcraft, and uses it to open a door to the fairy lands.  By then, she’s powerful enough to bring the changeling to that door, and exchange it there for her real son.” 

“And the fairies didn’t…  Try to stop her?”  Jacob asked, his moustache somehow radiating skepticism. 

“Oh, they did.  But by then, every force of nature obeyed her.  She carried out this transaction without even stepping on fairy ground.” 

“Happy ending, for once, then,” smiled Queenie.  “The fairy baby didn’t even get stuffed in the oven like they usually are.” 

               Credence looked up at her and shook his head. 

“It gets twisted from here,” he promised dejectedly. 

               Dr. Bai nodded sympathetically. 

“It does,” she said.  “Mostly because of magic.   It takes a long time to learn, so by the time the mother could do what she did, her son – and the changeling – they were twenty-one years old.  Not exactly a _Finding Nemo_ scenario, the son was changed forever.” 

“Who’s Nemo?”  Malfoy whispered to Harry. 

“You don’t know who Nemo is?!”

               Modesty was evidently appalled.  Queenie let out a silvery laugh, while her hand darted across the table to rescue the girl’s dangerously swaying glass of water. 

“He’s a fish,” Harry explained, grinning at the withering look he received at that.  “Look, never mind, it’s nobody – I’ll explain later, alright?  She means that the end of the story isn’t ideal.” 

“Something like that,” Dr. Bai agreed. 

“Yeah…  Please go on, Dr. Bai.  Sorry about this.” 

“It’s alright,” she sighed.  “Anyway, here is where the story turns to the haunting.  Keep in mind, I’m pretty sure this part was added on later, as a sort of a…  Cautionary tale, if you will.” 

“Uhuh.  Lemme guess,” said Adam.  “Witchcraft?” 

“Witchcraft,” confirmed Dr. Bai.  “Since it was considered a sin…  It killed the mother, and then she couldn’t pass on.  According to the legend, she is still trapped in this castle, as a ghost – with a purpose.  If a changeling is ever in the castle again, she appears and wanders around the place, preparing all the same spells, around the child’s twenty-first birthday.  Brings the real Barebone child back.” 

“That’s… Nice, though?..” Jacob tried in a hopeful tone. 

“She kills the changeling,” said Dr. Bai. 

               A convenient peal of thunder ripped through the newborn silence. 

“What?   _Why?_ ” Malfoy demanded.  “Didn’t she just exchange them?” 

“When she was alive, yes,” admitted Dr. Bai.  “In death, however, she is angry with the fairies.  Blames them for not being able to find peace in the afterlife, and takes it out on the changeling.” 

               Adam whistled. 

“Huh,” said Harry.  “That’s…  Sad.  And kinda creepy.” 

“I know,” sighed Credence.  “Sorry.” 

“Not your fault your ancestors were messed up,” he waved it off, and relaxed in his chair.  “You go far enough up my line, and I’m related to a literal serial killer.”

               His brain fed him a flash of a pallid, inhuman face, and he shivered despite the warmth of the unnaturally cozy dining hall.  Shit. 

“Really?” Modesty perked up.  “Cool!” 

“No, Modesty,” Dr. Bai intoned.  “Not cool.  Serial killers aren’t cool.” 

“Uh – I’m adopted anyway,” mumbled Credence, and trailed off. 

               Modesty chattered on. 

“But it’s cool when you’re related to one, Mum, it’s better than being related to nobody – how many people did he murder, Harry?..” 

“A lot,” he said curtly, regretting ever having brought up the topic.  One joke wasn’t supposed to go this far –

“How did he kill them?  Was it a special way?  It’s usually a special way…  Ooh, were there guts – ”

“Strudel!” interjected Queenie. 

 

***

 

“Alriiight, showtime,” Harry said the moment Malfoy’s door closed behind them. 

               Malfoy scoffed. 

“Potter, seriously?   _Showtime?_ ” 

               Harry waved his hand dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled, briskly crossing the room and mimicked Malfoy’s voice.  “ _We can’t afford to lose focus, Potter, it’s a serious investigation, Potter_ – ”

“Serious?  Hardly,” Malfoy shrugged.  “The Ministry shouldn’t even bother with such surges of magic.  Even if they’ve grown lately, they’re too erratic to be connected to anything important – ”

“Then why send us up here?  We’re the best team on the force – ”

“Conceited as always, I see,” Malfoy sniffed, and pulled out his wand.  He twirled it in his long, pale fingers before casting several shielding charms on the door.  “They probably just wanted you out of the press for a while.  Took pity.” 

“Huh.  You think so?” 

“Say what you will about Savage, but he’s still human.” 

“Barely,” snickered Harry, arranging a series of whirring detectors on the bed.  “I’m pretty sure he’s mostly caffeine by now.” 

“That and trainee tears,” grunted Malfoy, enveloping the room with the final protective spell in one sweeping motion.  “Done.” 

“Awesome, let’s go – ”

               Harry headed toward the door, but something snagged his elbow.  He stopped.

“What is it?” 

               Malfoy’s face wore a strange pinched look as his eyes ran over Harry.    

“Nothing, just – are you sure you want to run the sweep tonight?” 

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged.  “That’s what we always do, isn’t it?  Arrive, sweep, figure the rest out as we go along.” 

“Yes, I know, but…  Are you sure?” 

               Harry furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What are you talking about?  Of course, I’m sure.” 

“At dinner.  You, uh – your magic was…  I could feel it.  Angry.  And something else, too.”

               Harry stared at him. 

“Yeah.  I know, I do that sometimes – it’s nothing, I’m fine, really.  You don’t have to worry,” he added after a pause. 

               Malfoy sneered, and released his arm with a jerk. 

“I’m not _worried_ , Potter.  Forget it, let’s go.” 

               Harry made a few hesitant steps toward the door and stopped again. 

“Malfoy, I’m – I’m really alright – ” 

“I said, forget it,” Malfoy snapped.  “Take the Sneakoscope.  Come on.” 

               Harry sighed and pulled the door open.  The castle stood quiet and dark as its inhabitants snored in their rooms, and he felt the familiar thrill of adventure – it was dark, there were rumours of a homicidal ghost, and Malfoy was standing next to him, so close that he could hear his breathing – slow and even. 

               Inhale.  Exhale.  Malfoy’s soft hair fluttered as they cast spell after spell, and he had Harry’s back.  Like he always did. 

“Let’s take this part of the castle first,” Harry whispered.  “And then start moving to the West Wing, that’s gonna be the fastest way to explore all of it – ”

“It’s still a waste of time,” Malfoy grumbled.  “Modesty is the only shred of magic around here, and she’s not powerful enough – ”

“Wait, what?” Harry turned around.  “She’s a witch?” 

“Regular wizarding kid, magic moderately under control, off to Hogwarts next year,” Malfoy rattled off.  “Nothing special though, definitely not anything that could cause the surges.” 

“And anyway, they’ve been recording those years back,” Harry frowned.  “She’s too young…  Yeah, this is useless.” 

               Malfoy cast the last mandatory charm and rolled his eyes as it came whooshing back. 

“And the last one – nothing as well!..  Who knew?” 

“Check that off, then,” Harry said, sliding his wand back into his sleeve.  “We can move.” 

“Right, on to dozens more corridors,” Malfoy moaned in pure distress.  “And then the towers – I’ll blow my entire fortune on energy potions at this rate!” 

“Savage will be proud.” 

“Shut up, Potter.  Just…  Shut up.” 

               Harry kept chuckling as they made their way towards the depths of Barebone Castle.  He couldn’t help it, he just felt alive – just like all those times he’d slunk through dark Hogwarts corridors, avoiding Filch’s shaky lantern – he felt _happy._

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed.  “Quit laughing.  Seriously, somebody will hear us – ”

“I c-can’t,” Harry giggled, swishing his wand for a diagnostic.  “This feels like we’re – ghost hunters, or something – ”

               He pressed his hand to his mouth to stifle a particularly loud snort.

“Merlin.  Just do that fucking muffling charm, you laugh like a horse – who the fuck hunts ghosts?..”

               Malfoy shook his head as he threw a cautious _Revelio_ over his shoulder. 

“It’s not a real hunt, more like – oh, forget it,” Harry sighed, giving up and casting a quick Muffliato around them.  “There, happy?” 

“Not particularly,” Malfoy maintained stubbornly.  “You’re still an idiot.” 

“Thanks.  I knew you cared.”

               They continued the sweep, bickering quietly as they strolled down the painfully similar carpeted halls of the castle’s lived-in section.  Where the thick fabric ended, the wooden floor shone dully, sending every footstep echoing across the walls.  Harry’s neck prickled with anticipation; it was as if it could feel an unseen scrutiny on his back.  

               He thought of Mrs. Norris with her all-knowing stare and hastily reminded himself that, being an Auror on a mission, he had the right to lurk in the corridors past curfew for as long as he bloody well liked.

“Take that,” he muttered under his breath.  “I’m a fucking _adult_ , bitch!” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“What?..”

“You’re talking to yourself again, Potter,” Malfoy drawled next to him in the darkness.  “First sign of madness, as they say…” 

               Harry groaned. 

“You sound like Phineas,” he told Malfoy irritably as he cast another diagnostic at the nearest stone wall.  Stone loved magic in general, more than wood ever did; so sometimes it talked.  Which was rather creepy when it happened. 

               Malfoy frowned.  His face was pale in the silvery light of his _Lumos_. 

“Phineas – Phineas Nigellus Black?  That Phineas?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly.  He still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of being watched, and it was seriously beginning to bug him.  “I’ve got a portrait of him at home.  He’s annoying.” 

               Malfoy gave him a pitying look. 

“You merely lack social skills, Potter. And table manners.  Great-Uncle Phineas is a charming old man.” 

“Oh, I’d bet he is,” Harry snorted.  “With you!  You two met up on Saturdays since you were seven, and had cute little tea parties, and – ” 

               Malfoy stopped. 

“He told you?” he asked, voice full of betrayed disbelief. 

               Harry gaped at him. 

“You’re not se – ”

               He broke off abruptly as they came to a halt. 

               In front of them stood a plain door, made of heavy wood and generally unassuming – save for one detail.  There was a massive padlock hanging from it. 

“Ooh.  Locked,” sneered Malfoy.  “We’re going through, aren’t we.” 

               It wasn’t a question.  More like a passing remark that would normally refer to a boring, yet unavoidable conference. 

“Yep,” Harry confirmed, and grinned.  “What do you think is behind it?” 

“More empty corridors,” Malfoy yawned.  “Except dustier – that’s the West Wing.” 

               Harry brought his wand’s light closer to the coarse surface.  It bounced unevenly off the rusty lock, which hung there, silent and infuriatingly omniscient. 

“The one Dr. Bai said she didn’t get to evaluate properly yet?” 

“That’s the one.” 

               The door stood silent.  Harry glared at it, exasperated and throbbing with excitement. 

“Well, there’s definitely something there,” he said slowly.  “If there’s anything in this castle at all.” 

               He poked the keyhole with a short, muttered _Alohomora_ and it clicked open – unwillingly.  It didn’t want its secrets to get out. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Wha – ?..  Oh.  I don’t know, gut feeling, I suppose.  It just looks like an arse who’s hiding something important.” 

“Uhuh,” Malfoy hummed.  He squinted at the lock, unconvinced.  “Come on then, are you going to open the door or not?” 

“Can’t _you_ do it?” 

               Harry was becoming increasingly aware that they were still standing in front of a closed door, arguing, with nothing but darkness around them. 

               Malfoy looked apalled. 

“Those Killing Curses must’ve given you brain damage after all,” he said, wrinkling his nose.  “If you think I’m touching this dirt-coated handle, you’re – ” 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry groaned.  He grasped the handle, and promptly discovered it to be indeed smeared with soil – he tried not to think of whatever else it might be. 

               He pulled open the door, a little more roughly than he’d intended.  Its hinges gave a deep screech as it swung towards them. 

“After you, Lord Malfoy,” he bit out, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“Because cleaning charms have ceased to exist, have they, Potter?” Malfoy smirked, stepping through the doorway as if it led into a throne room. 

“Keep talking and you’ll join them.” 

“Hm.  You and your barbarous tendencies.” 

               Malfoy’s tone bordered on fondness, and Harry felt an odd rush of warmth prickling his face as he followed Malfoy inside.  Batting away the thought of this probably – definitely – imagined affection, he stared down the narrow, dark corridor. 

               They walked on, cautiously.  The walls seemed to carry a sense of foreboding in every irregularity of their bare stone, which refused to shine in the light of Malfoy’s wand under its thick layer of dust.  Harry raised his own wand for a sweep.  Fuck those walls.  He could feel they were arseholes.  Something – a cobweb, he realized – brushed against his face, and he shivered. 

               They’d reached a corner, and Malfoy was sending spell after spell down an identical grey passage, which extended into the unknown – just as dead, just as silent.  Harry glanced over his shoulder, but all he could see was darkness. 

“Wow.  It’s dark,” he said, in a vague attempt to lighten the atmosphere. 

“No shit, Potter.  There’s no windows in the inner halls, what do you expect?..” 

               This was all wrong.  The arching ceilings they’d encountered everywhere else were gone; the ceiling here was flat, like the inside of a coffin lid.  The walls were grey, flat stone, and they were too close together.  He could hear his own pulse in this place, and if he listened too closely, it sounded like echoing footsteps. 

               There was something concealed here, Harry was sure of it.  On the off chance that there was actually a case going on, the evidence would be at the end of this corridor, like the mythical pot of gold.  They would find it –

               Harry jumped at the sudden sound of Malfoy sneezing. 

“Fucking dust.” 

“Your nose is twitching,” Harry told him with glee.  “It’s cute.” 

“Potter, I swear to – quick, in here!” 

               Harry’s head connected dully with the wall, but he didn’t have time to wince or protest – because in a second, Malfoy was pressed flush against him.  He’d pushed them both back behind the corner, his hand was on Harry’s mouth and Harry could feel his hot breath against his neck – the git was always taller than him –

               The hand moved away from his lips.  Harry took a deep breath. 

“What’re you – ” 

“Shut up!” Malfoy hissed, pulling away slightly to glare at him, and Harry did. 

               He’d suddenly noticed Malfoy’s wand.  It was clutched in his hand, pressed against the stone, and its tip was dark.  He shouldn’t be able to see it, he thought dazedly –

               Except that he could.  There was light – nothing like the clear, precise glow of a _Lumos_ – it was yellow and shaky, and getting brighter with every tremor.  It was moving slowly towards them.  He could hear uneven, shuffling steps.  Ragged breathing – it was getting closer. 

               Then a figure emerged from behind the corner, and his blood ran cold. 

               It was a woman – tall, with wild, heavy hair and a face that was covered in patches of dirt.  Her sprawling shadow flickered in the light of a candle she held in her hand, and her sunken eyes stared unseeingly ahead as she kept walking into the depths of the silent castle.  Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief –

               When she stopped.  She stood, unmoving, almost at the edge of the corridors’ intersection.  Then, slowly, the same mirthless grin on her face, she turned her head –

               And looked straight at them. 

               For one, excruciatingly long, second everything was still.  Then,

“Run!” yelped Malfoy, and they bolted. 

 

               Harry slammed the heavy door behind them, and leaned back against it, panting. 

“Move, move, move, quickly!” 

               Malfoy shoved him aside and fumbled with the lock, sliding it back into place.  It clicked shut, and he let it dangle down as it did before, and bent over, his hands on his knees. 

               He stayed like that for a moment, and then stood up, pressing his ear to the door. 

“Hear anything?” 

“No, I – ” Malfoy began, and broke off, because they both heard it. 

               A hoarse, empty laugh echoed behind the door – so close that the person had to be standing inches away from them.  A wheezing, drawn-out sigh followed – and then it was quiet. 

               Malfoy pushed himself away from the door and looked up. 

“What – ” Harry started. 

“I don’t know, alright?” he snapped.  “I don’t know what the fuck is going on!” 

               Harry watched as Malfoy walked over to the opposite wall and slid down to sit on the floor.  He shrugged and did the same, staring at the unassuming wooden door in front of them. 

               He nudged Malfoy’s shoulder with his own. 

“Hey…  What do you think just happened?” 

               Malfoy moaned and buried his face in his hands.  His hair was limp. 

“I mean, we could’ve just run away from a harmless old lady,” Harry pressed on. 

“She’s not that old,” Malfoy said.  “I’d say mid-forties.  And no way she’s harmless.  That whole place was crackling with magic, didn’t you feel it?” 

“What?  You’re serious?” 

“Yes – it was just too erratic to show up on the diagnostics…  You really didn’t feel it?” 

               Harry shook his head. 

“I’ve no idea what people talk about when they say they can _feel_ magic.  I mean, your own is one thing, or spells that – ”

“Whatever,” Malfoy cut him off, and let his head fall back to rest against the stone.  “Merlin’s balls, I’ve no idea what’s going on here.” 

               Harry stared in front of him, thinking. 

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” he said slowly.  “She’s definitely not a ghost.” 

               Malfoy groaned. 

“Thank you for your wisdom, O Saviour.” 

“Anytime.” 

               Malfoy punched Harry’s arm lightly, and he laughed. 

“Alright, so what do we know?..  She’s not a ghost, and she’s not anyone we’ve met – and the haunting grounds are full of magic to the brim – ” 

“And she’s got a _candle_ ,” complained Malfoy.  “Seriously, who uses candles anymore?..  If you’re a witch, bring a wand…” 

“And if you’re a Muggle, take a torch,” Harry agreed.  “Yeah, none of this makes sense.” 

               An unexpected weight dropped lightly on his shoulder, and he realized belatedly that it was Malfoy.  He was resting his head there, a stubborn pout on his face. 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Malfoy repeated in a whine, tucking his nose into Harry’s shirt.  “And I don’t _like_ it.” 

               Somewhere between his brain reeling with leftover excitement, and his face flushing, Harry’s heart melted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo... that's it for the first chapter! Kudos are appreciated, and if you leave a comment, I will love you forever. 
> 
> (also somebody please tell me they got the Nemo/Odysseus joke)


	2. Chapter 2

               The first tentative ray of sunshine broke through the crack in the heavy curtains and hopped into the room, illuminating a mess of two opened suitcases.  It danced past them, and along the rumpled bed – and was just reaching the pillows, when Draco Malfoy woke up. 

               He squinted at the abhorrently bright morning.  It couldn’t be much later than six – but he could already hear the shrill chorus of birds, which had stayed silent through last night’s storm. 

               It was over, then.  He smiled, despite himself – the sun was warming the windowsill with a promise of summer, and he was suddenly seized with an irrational desire to get up and throw open the blinds – except he really didn’t want to get out of bed.  It was cozy, and every inch of him felt comforted as he rested his head against something warm and solid.  He was just about to try and snuggle further into it, when his mind was struck with a horrifying realization. 

               Potter.  Draco groaned inwardly, before angling his head to look at the sleeping face of the Boy Who Lived.  Of course, it was fucking Potter. 

               They’d stumbled into the room after the sweep – so tired with the journey and the pathetic attempt at investigation that they were barely awake when they collapsed on the bed.  Potter didn’t even take off his glasses – they were still there on his nose, askew and smeared with grease.  It was rather endearing… 

               No.  That’s stupid, he couldn’t think _that_ –

               Then again, who was there to stop him? 

               Draco scoffed, and let his head fall back against Potter’s chest.  He could do whatever the fuck he wished.  He could _think_ whatever the fuck he wished!  Every Legilemens he’d ever known was dead, and this was a Muggle castle, anyway. 

               He sat up, the memory of the previous night vivid in his head. 

“What in the name of Merlin’s sweaty socks was that…  Thing?..” he muttered, and shook his head. 

               This was a nice morning – with or without a bed full of Potter, or perhaps even because of it.  He wasn’t going to ruin it by thinking about ugly apparitions he couldn’t explain. 

“Hhnn…  Cuhbaakkhhh,” Potter mumbled incoherently in his sleep, and Draco jumped – but he only turned over, falling silent again. 

               Draco sat watching him for a moment or two, but it became apparent that Potter wasn’t about to do anything else.  He sighed, gazing down at the softly snoring living legend, who shifted closer and tried to curl around him.  The morning light flickered gold on Potter’s brown skin – he would look beautiful in gold – and Draco could see his every eyelash.  They were so long…  And caked with sleep dust.  And lumped together. 

“Ugh.  What am I going to do with you, idiot?” he questioned. 

“Fuck,” suggested Potter very clearly. 

               Draco jumped.  His face must have gone through eight thousand different shades of red before Potter started speaking again –

“Fuucckk, no, shit, Jesus Christ Merlin, don’t eat that, you fucking moron, ew, spit that out – ”

“Excuse me?..” Draco tried. 

“Nooo, don’t…” Potter moaned.  “Aggahhbbhhhuufff.”

               His eyes were screwed shut, and his face was a dissatisfied grimace – and Draco fought hard to keep himself from laughing aloud.  This was too much fun to wake him up and end it, and anyhow, a sleeping, talking Potter was frankly _cute_ –

“Dnnnn _do_ thaa,” whined Potter, looking painfully distressed. 

“Okay?..  I won’t?”

               This was the best morning of Draco’s life.  He thought about marking the date in a calendar. 

“Good,” exhaled Potter, his croaky voice singing with relief.  His face stretched into a smile, and he pressed closer to Draco. 

“Hm.  Doesn’t take much to keep you happy.” 

“Huhhhnn,” agreed Potter, nuzzling Draco’s thigh, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn up all on their own.  He felt warm, and there was an odd lifting sensation in his stomach. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he told Potter.  Should he wake him up?..  He could.  But then again, an awake Potter wasn’t as soft or as easy to please – he was fire and snark and eyes twinkling with mischief, and it was too early for that.  They’d both jump right in, of course, but Draco didn’t want to. 

               This was better.  It was peaceful and quiet, except for the birds chirping outside, and all Potter wanted to do was cuddle.  He was happy, so long as Draco stayed with him and didn’t eat anything dumb. 

               Draco’s eyes lingered on his hair – which was a mess.  He’d removed all the cobwebs and dust last night, but Cleaning Charms did nothing for neatness, if anything, they only made it worse.  The glasses completed the disarray triumphantly, perched in their place with all the grace of a dancing Acromantula.  Draco smirked and pulled them off. 

               Potter’s hand went up to rub at his face. 

“Ubbbh.” 

“You can’t sleep in glasses, Potter,” Draco informed him, folding the frames and setting them carefully on the night-table.  “You’ll get lines on your face, and that looks stupid.” 

“Pretty.” 

“No.  Stupid.  Dumb.  Like you, but you see, appearances matter to people – ”

“Killjoy.” 

               Draco stared at his sleeping form. 

“Did you just?..  Oh Merlin.  You’re incorrigible.” 

               Potter did not attempt to dispute this.  He only shifted a little, lining himself up into a more comfortable position, and let out a small sigh as he pressed his forehead to Draco’s leg.  He was unusually peaceful – awake, Potter radiated power even when he was quiet.  Draco decided he liked both just fine, and tried to distract himself from wondering if Potter ever really liked _him_. 

               He could be just pretending.  For the sake of appearances. 

               Then again, this was Potter.  He could never really lie, not back at Hogwarts and not now – but maybe he just stuck around for the banter.  Not everyone could tolerate the Saviour’s sense of humour, and practically no-one could tolerate Draco in general – that was likely how they’d ended up partnering in the first place.  Savage did seem adamant. 

               So they pranced through their cases, piling on macabre comments and telling each other to promptly die – what if Potter meant it?..  No.  No, he didn’t, he’d saved Draco’s arse again and again – what if he was sick of it?..  Draco was annoying, he knew that – and they couldn’t make a single decision without fighting – anyone would be sick of that –

               Shit.  Potter especially would be sick of that – he hated even listening to people fight.  And here Draco was, letting him practically drape himself over his leg – for all he knew, Potter wanted him to stay the fuck away –

               Merlin.  What the hell was he doing?  It was a nice morning, and his own brain was ruining it – he was a mess, why would Potter even bother hating him –

“Y-you…  You don’t _really_ want me to die, do you?” he asked – weaker than he’d hoped. 

               Potter grunted in his sleep. 

“Hah.  So very enlightening.  Thank you, O Saviour, Bringer of Light, our very own Golden – ”

“Love you,” said Potter earnestly, and Draco froze. 

“What?”

               His tongue was dry, and the word barely above a whisper. 

“Luuhhh…  I looove you,” Potter repeated, drawing out the word.  That first one was apparently the beginning of a whole speech.  He smacked his lips sleepily, and started again.  “Love you.  Love you.  Love you...” 

               He trailed off, while Draco stared, his mind swirling with the reactions he should’ve had, and which all squelched together into one big torrent. 

“Uh.  Okay.  Thanks,” he finally got out.  “If you were talking to me, that is.” 

“Hhhhh.” 

               Potter nudged his thigh with his face.  Like a dog asking to be petted, Draco’s brain helpfully supplied – which Potter technically could be, with all that shaggy hair.  He had so much of it…

               His hand rose to touch it, and he wavered – but then brought it down to brush Potter’s hair away from his face.  The strands were thick and coarse, and full of knots, and Draco did it again, stroking them lightly with his fingers. 

“Mhhh,” said Potter. 

“Mhhh yourself.” 

               He sat like that for a minute or two, carefully carding his fingers through Potter’s hair, trying not to pull too hard.  He felt – warm – and yet there was an odd ache in his chest, as if something was missing. 

               Potter was smiling in his sleep, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.  It was a pity, really, that Potter had to wake up at all – he wouldn’t mind staying like this for a whole eternity.  The castle was quiet around them, and the world far away.  And Potter _liked_ him here – he wanted this moment to last forever –

               His fingers stilled.  Potter’s face scrunched up in discontent. 

“Sorry,” Draco said, but it already relaxed, expressionless.  “I have to…  Go.” 

               The sunbeam fluttered a little on Potter’s shoulder, betraying the presence of the last fleeing clouds.  The day was going to be beautiful, and Draco needed to clear his head –

               Quickly, quietly, he climbed off the bed, changed – ugh, he slept in yesterday’s clothes.  Casting one last glance at the unnaturally peaceful, quiet Potter, he sighed and slunk out of the room. 

 

               The grounds bathed in the morning light, and even Barebone Castle itself looked warm and inviting as Draco strolled down the narrow path.  His mind was blissfully empty.  The far-off mountains shone, gilded by the sunrise, and the wind was fresh, but not biting – and everything was good. 

               He turned the corner into the gardens, and was startled out of his reverie by the sight of a woman kneeling in front of a large flowerbed.  He was about to turn around and leave her to it, when he was betrayed by his own shoe.  It scraped the gravel with a loud scratch, and she stilled. 

               Fantastic.  He will have to figure out some way of moving around unseen –

               Draco was already preparing a dozen various conversation openers, when she turned around and everything inside him froze. 

“Oh!  I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you standing there – I get so absorbed in the work – good morning,” she gave him a warm, if embarrassed smile, and he could think of nothing to say in reply. 

“Uh, good morning,” he finally managed, and tried in vain not to stare. 

               She was the woman from the West Wing – or, rather, she looked like her just as Aunt Andromeda looked like Bellatrix.  Her face, which seemed bloodthirsty and dead then, was now the picture of sanity and peace.  The patches of dirt, which she left on it after wiping her forehead from sweat, were innocent.  Her hair was still a tangled mess, but then, so was Potter’s. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she was now saying.  “When did you get here?” 

“Just yesterday evening,” he responded, his body falling back onto socialization autopilot – whatever autopilot was.  Potter always provided shitty explanations. 

“I see…  You must’ve been caught in the storm, then – ”

“Oh, no – managed to avoid it,” Draco assured her.  “No thanks to my friend, though.” 

“Slow traveler, is he?  My brother’s the same way…” 

               Her voice was full of amused understanding as she smiled at him. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” he gave a half-hearted groan, and smirked when she laughed easily.  Contact established, may proceed with investigation.  “I mean, picture this – we’re on the clock, the train is leaving in a few minutes, and he’s standing there like a pole, staring at the sunset – ”

“Aw.  Is he an artist?” 

               He smiled at that, his mind still screaming with confusion at the ease of this conversation.  This couldn’t be her – but what about in candlelight?  And if she convulsed her face into a static grin, with bared teeth and glassy eyes, would she look different?.. 

               And her laugh!  What if it was hoarse and wheezing instead?  Draco still couldn’t pinpoint what had seemed off about that sound, but there was something wrong with it – it was somehow unnatural. 

               He wanted to scream at her – _who are you?!_  What are you?.. 

“Not professionally, no,” he said instead.  “But he’s fairly good – and, uh, forgive me, but I never did ask your name?..” 

“Charlotte.  I’m the head gardener here.” 

               Her smile was like a warm welcome. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said courteously.  “A surprise, I must say – I was under the impression of having met everybody in the castle last night – but a good one.” 

               She blushed. 

“Oh, thank you – what’s your name, by the way?” 

“Draco,” he gave a little bow with that, and was pleased when she giggled.  “Draco Malfoy.” 

“Ah.  Were your parents hippies, too?..  Mine named me Titania – after the fairy queen in Shakespeare, can you believe that?” 

“Really?”

               There was nothing wrong with his name.  It even featured in the Hogwarts motto, a perfectly good name, well within wizarding tradition!  And he had to ask Potter about hippies later. 

“Oh, yes.  I changed it later – Charlotte sounds so much more sensible, don’t you think?..” 

“I suppose so,” he agreed, still feeling rather miffed.  He had a wonderful name, thank you. 

               Then again, hers could have some significance – didn’t she say _fairies?.._

“What are your parents like, then?” he asked.  This could be interesting. 

“Wonderful people, really,” she admitted.  “If a bit odd.  Taught me almost everything I know about flowers – my mother worked with this very garden before me, as well…” 

“Oh?” 

“Yes – she’s the one who planted the apple grove down there,” Charlotte told him, glowing.  “So returning here felt like…  Home, I guess.  I’d spent some time in England before that, but…  This castle is my home.” 

“Not many people can say that about a castle.”

“Oh, I know it sounds strange,” she laughed. 

               Draco smirked. 

“I did grow up in a manor, though.”

 

               As Draco turned his steps back towards the castle, his mind buzzed with a ton of new information, and even less understanding of the case than he had in the first place.  Was Charlotte the apparition from the West Wing or not?  He couldn’t decide, couldn’t know for sure.   Maybe she changed, somehow, when she was alone?..  But even that seemed far-fetched. 

               The two women seemed as unlike each other as, well, night and day – if it wasn’t for the remarkable physical resemblance.  And her name!  Named after a fairy – it could be connected to the same damn legend. 

               The legend…  It was odd, just as Dr. Bai claimed.  Odd and inexplicable by any magical phenomena that he was aware of.  Even though Muggle mythology often stemmed from living, real magic, this story just – didn’t.  It was dead, just like the West Wing Woman’s empty eyes… 

               He leaned against an old apple tree – to think.  The sun was rising high, and its warmth was becoming increasingly apparent – but he didn’t feel like going inside just yet.  Returning meant talking to Potter – no, _briefing_ him on the details of this new line of investigation.  They’d be back to formalities, quips, and the blissful, warm morning would be forgotten. 

               He didn’t want to forget.  On the contrary, he wanted to cling to it, keep it here, make it real – and with Potter around, it would be impossible.  He hoped Potter would sleep for the rest of the day –

“Malfoy?  What’re you doing here?” 

 

***

 

               May it be said, that whatever Harry expected from a bright, watercolour morning, it wasn’t this.  He was seized, as if in a frenzy, and dragged across the slightly overgrown garden – through what seemed like a proper, thick hedge.  Branches were creaking and breaking all around him, and the shrubs were shedding straight into his hair in outrage –

“Ow, Malfoy, what the fuck, let me go – ”

“Shut up,” Malfoy hissed.  “She almost saw us, I need to catch her when she thinks no-one’s looking – ”

“Who?..” Harry frowned at him, and winced as a broken twig poked him in the neck as Malfoy pulled him past.  “Look, whoever it is, she’ll notice a pair of grown blokes tearing through the bushes – ”

“No, she won’t,” Malfoy scoffed.  “I’ve put charms on them.  They’re like a completely hidden passageway – I just didn’t get around to cleaning out the inside…  Here.” 

“Here where?” Harry demanded, scowling and feeling extremely childish. 

“Right here.  Look.” 

               Malfoy’s elegant finger was pointing somewhere in front of them, toward the flowerbeds –

“No way.” 

               The words broke out of Harry’s mouth, unbidden. 

“Yes, way.” 

“She looks like – ”

“I know,” Malfoy sighed.  “Well, at least I’m not imagining things – and get this, she told me her parents named her after a _fairy_.” 

“Seriously?..  Huh,” Harry edged closer to the edge of the hedge.  “That’s…  Convenient.  A little too convenient, actually – ” 

“I thought so too,” Malfoy nodded.  “But then I thought of the dirt on that door handle – fresh dirt, remember – your hand was covered with it?..”

“Should’ve wiped it on your back,” grunted Harry.  “It was gross.” 

               Malfoy smirked, as he peered through the leaves next to him. 

“Exactly.  I thought you’d feel right at home.  Look, point is, she’s the head gardener – ”

“And that would explain the dirt,” Harry acknowledged.  “Okay, I see what you mean.” 

“First suspect?” 

               Malfoy’s voice was gleeful. 

“First suspect,” Harry grinned back.  “What about the magic, did you – ”

“Yes.  If she’s a witch, she’s hiding it very well, her magic would have to be completely under control.”

               Harry blinked.  The West Wing Woman hummed to herself as she walked by their hiding spot with a basket of gardening tools. 

“There’s nothing showing?”

“No stray wisps, nothing,” Malfoy affirmed, shaking his head.  “That would take…  Skill.  Prodigious skill.” 

“Huh.” 

               Harry tried to lean back, and jerked forwards again when a broken branch dug viciously into his shoulder.  Malfoy burst out laughing.  Harry glowered. 

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” 

“Naturally,” Malfoy smirked. 

“Ugh.  Why are you like this?..” 

“It’s fun?..” 

               Harry gave him a glare. 

“Should I try it sometime, then?” 

               Malfoy considered that for a moment. 

“No,” he said finally.  “It wouldn’t suit you, Potter.  You’re the nice one.” 

“I’m really not that nice,” Harry sighed. 

“Of course, you are.  You’re Harry bloody Potter.  You’re nice.” 

“In comparison to you, maybe,” Harry snorted.  “Anyone would seem nice – ”

“Draco’s nice!” a shrill voice protested with just a hint of a baby accent, and Harry almost lost his shit then and there.  He jumped, narrowly avoiding taking his eye out with a twig, and cursed loudly. 

“Mum says you’re not supposed to say that word, Harry,” Modesty informed him with a superior air.  “It’s a bad word.” 

               Harry paused his correspondence with the heavens in the middle of a heartfelt thanks for letting him keep his wand in his pocket instead of having him point it at an innocent child, and stared at her.  She was obviously waiting for something, and he found himself scrambling for ideas. 

“Uh.  I’m…  I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again?” he attempted after a few seconds’ hesitation. 

“See that it doesn’t,” Modesty uttered importantly in what was a clear imitation of Dr. Bai, and then grinned.  “What’re you two doing in the bushes?” 

               Harry glanced at Malfoy, hoping to convey absolute panic in his expression.  It appeared that he’d failed spectacularly, since Malfoy was much more interested in his nails. 

“We’re – we’re playing detectives,” Harry blurted, and started to flush. 

               He could almost hear James Potter laughing at the pathetic lie from beyond the grave.  That, and Lily slamming her face into a ghostly desk in frustration. 

“You’re _grownups_ ,” Modesty told him. 

“Grownup?..” Malfoy scoffed, finally turning his attention to Harry’s suffering.  “Please.  A functional adult is the last thing _he_ is.” 

               Modesty looked skeptical. 

“What is he, then?” 

“A Mess,” Malfoy said.  The way he pronounced the word made it clear that the Mess deserved special notice.  “And he likes to play detectives, so who would I be not to humour him?..” 

“An arse,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

               He then thanked the heavens again, because Modesty didn’t hear it. 

“Who’re you investigating?” she asked excitedly instead. 

“Charlotte,” said Malfoy seriously.  He leaned closer, and whispered dramatically.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I think she’s a witch.” 

 

               They followed Modesty out of the garden.  She ran slightly ahead of them, chattering about fairies, murder, and unicorns.  Sometimes she would stop by a flowerbed, and bring back a blossom – almost always handing it to Malfoy. 

“Charlotte says I’m allowed to pick these, but not _those ones_ – do you think they’re witching flowers?” she asked, pointing at an exquisite arrangement of flowers Harry didn’t know.  He was also becoming increasingly worried about the Statute of Secrecy. 

“No, they’re not,” Malfoy said.  “I’ll show you real witching flowers later, if you’re good.  So, you were saying – unicorns?..” 

               The conversation was clearly sailing on the very edges of the Muggle Relations map.  Even if Modesty was a witch, her mother was still not to know until next year – and _unicorns_ –

“Oh, yes!  They’re real, I know it,” she said with conviction.  “Because I saw one here before – ”

“No way,” Harry butted in, promptly forgetting every notion of the Statute.  “They’re scared of humans, they hide – ” 

“Well, that one didn’t!” Modesty crossed her arms and glared.  It was startlingly effective, and he could only nod meekly as she turned and skipped down the path, pulling Malfoy behind her. 

               Malfoy was wearing a proud smirk, and Harry gave up. 

“A real unicorn, then.  Huh,” he acknowledged. 

“A _real_ one,” Modesty stressed.  “I saw it, but nobody would believe me – ”

“That must’ve been frustrating,” Malfoy nodded sympathetically. 

“It was,” Modesty agreed.  “They kept saying that unicorns didn’t exist – except Credence.  He says he saw it too, and he should know, right?..  It’s his castle.” 

“That’s…  Logical,” Harry conceded, his thoughts rushing. 

               Credence.  He had to talk to Credence. 

“Of course, it is!  Uh – you believe me then, right?..”  Modesty asked hopefully. 

“Completely and without question,” promised Malfoy. 

               Modesty nodded, satisfied, and quickened her pace as they neared the castle walls.  She pulled them past the main entrance – well, she pulled Malfoy, Harry followed – and stopped in front of a tall door, which faced a gurgling stream, partially obscured by short, crooked firs. 

               She let go of Malfoy’s hand and knocked authoritatively, her thin knuckles rapping quickly against the time-polished wood.  Knock, knock, knock-knock-knock. 

“It’s my secret knock,” she explained, glancing back at them.  “Jacob said it’s _personal_ , everyone gets their own.” 

               Malfoy raised his eyebrow. 

“Do we?” 

“Only if you’re trusted,” Modesty told him. 

               Meanwhile, the door creaked open to reveal Jacob’s apron, his neat moustache, and finally, his smiling face.  He was sprinkled evenly with flour. 

“There you are, kiddo!  I was wondering when you’d show,” he chuckled.  “She hasn’t missed a day since she got here, you know.” 

“Judging by the smells, I am not in the least surprised,” Malfoy said in his silkiest voice. 

“Well, what’s the point in hanging out here – come on in, guys,” said Jacob, and pulled open the door for them. 

               They stepped through, and Harry immediately decided that this was what paradise looked like – and definitely smelled like. 

               His nostrils were barraged with deliciousness – it was almost overpowering.  There was something sweet – and something salty – and something he wasn’t sure about, but it was glorious –

“Oh, there goes another one,” laughed Queenie, crossing over to the stove with a very flat pan, which sizzled merrily as she poured runny crepe mix over it.  “Victim to your baking, Jacob…” 

“You’re the one at the stove right now, darlin’, don’t blame me,” he chuckled, picking up a bowl of chocolate chips, and putting it away.  “None before breakfast, Modesty, you know the rules.” 

“May I just say that I don’t blame her?..” tried Harry, and got a roomful of laughs at that.  “Seriously, if that’s what your muffins smell like, I’m afraid to try anything else.  It’ll be too good, and I’ll die.” 

“Always the one for dramatics, Potter,” Malfoy sighed theatrically. 

“Shut up, Malfoy.  You’re the one who gets excited every time I mention Dudley’s cupcakes.”

“Who?” piped up Modesty. 

“Dudley – he’s my cousin.  Has a bakery down in London, best cupcakes I’ve ever tasted…” 

“Well, I’ll just have to challenge that, won’t I?” Jacob announced, bending down to examine his creations through the oven door. 

“And I’m sure you’ll succeed,” Malfoy gave him the polite, fakey smile of a highly specific cupcake addict.    

“Yeah, yeah – let me try first…  Hold on, Dudley – that wouldn’t be the one of _Dudley’s Destiny_?” 

“That’s him,” Harry nodded, grinning.  “Man, my uncle was livid at the name – even more than at the whole baking thing, actually.  Dudley didn’t listen, though – said that since he loves food so much anyway, it must be his destiny, and who’s he to put a lie on the tin?..” 

“Good man, your cousin,” Jacob agreed.  “Baking is a great art.” 

“Takes a great artist,” Queenie winked.  “One who’s prepared to talk about it with great passion.  All day, at all times, at any pretext – until suddenly, everybody around him begins to worship his grandma…” 

“I don’t talk _that_ much,” Jacob protested. 

“You do,” she smiled, and flipped the crepe with a frightening ease.  “It’s cute.” 

               His face split into a giant smile. 

“Is it?”

“Definitely,” she confirmed.  “Modesty, don’t steal the crepes before breakfast – ”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Well, you shouldn’t get up so early, then,” Queenie was adamant.  “What were you even doing this whole time?..” 

               Modesty lit up, and began to relate her morning adventures at a speed Harry previously thought only Hermione could manage. 

               Draco finished his leisurely stroll around the kitchen island, and nudged Harry’s arm. 

“Don’t forget the unicorn,” he whispered. 

“I know – I was meaning to find Credence later,” Harry told him.  “What’re you gonna do this whole time, small talk?..” 

               Draco nodded.  Behind them, Modesty prattled on. 

“…  And then I was in the garden, and I found Draco and Harry in the bushes – ”

“Wait, what?” Jacob raised his eyebrows.   

“They were in the bushes,” Modesty repeated.  “They were playing detectives – it’s the most funnest game ever, Jacob, and Charlotte was a witch – and they made me _honorary detective_ , Jacob – ”

“Yeah, uh, hold on a sec – guys, I’m sorry about this,” Jacob sighed, setting a tray of muffins on the counter, and turning his attention to Harry and Malfoy.  “I’m sure Modesty didn’t mean to interrupt your – uh –don’t be too angry with her – ”

“Not at all,” Malfoy assured him.  “She wasn’t much of a bother – truly, it’s as Modesty says, we merely thought Charlotte was a witch…” 

“Uhuh,” Jacob nodded knowingly.  “Of course.  I understand completely, guys.” 

“Jaacoob,” Modesty whined.  “I _have_ to tell you about the witching flowers!  Draco said he’ll show me real ones – he said there are some near the castle, we won’t even have to go into the forest, do you think Mum will let me go?  I’ll be really really good, Jacob – ”

               Harry took this as a cue to leave the room.  The noise was becoming too much, between the voices and the sizzling, he couldn’t tune it all out – so he sighed with relief when the kitchen door closed behind him.  It clicked shut with a reassuring finality, and he stared in front of him. 

               A short corridor extended to a winding flight of stairs, from where bright morning light was making its way down to the closed-off kitchen area.  Harry followed it, deciding to at least make it to a central part of the castle before tracking down its owner. 

               By the time he climbed to the top of the stairs, he’d made up his mind about two things – one, Malfoy could absolutely spoil Modesty as much as he liked, but she was creepy and nothing could change Harry’s mind about that; and two, this castle was a fucking maze. 

               He paused near a particularly ugly gargoyle, and pulled out his wand.  Leaning back against the wall, he set it on the palm of his hand.  He concentrated, picturing Credence’s face – odd haircut, like it’s been a bowl at some point, but was now growing out – sharp features, but a soft expression, and dark, sad eyes –

“ _Point Me_ ,” Harry whispered. 

               The wand spun on his palm, gradually slowing to a stop.  He grinned, and set off confidently in that direction.  Magic was great.  He just had to make sure nobody saw it. 

 

               The wand gave a final spin, and he stopped, pocketing it.  In front of him was a polished door, its brass handles shining. 

“Let’s just hope there’s no creepy dead ladies behind this one,” Harry told himself, and pushed it open – just wide enough to stick his head through. 

               It was a library – the kind that would have Hermione breaking into the castle at night just for a chance to breathe in the air in the room.  Tall, elegant shelves rose to the ceiling, and light streamed in from a large window – which had a perfect reading spot just on the windowsill.  A purple pillow lay there, as if waiting for somebody to flop down with a book. 

               The place looked like a very Hermione-ish heaven, and was further improved by a complete lack of fake, and thus terrifying, ghosts.  Instead, Credence was perched in a fat armchair that stood in the corner.  His hair hung down in front of his face as he flipped the pages of a thick, leather-bound volume. 

               With a wave of intense relief, Harry opened the door wider.  It creaked, and Credence looked up. 

               For a second, both stared at each other silently.  Then Harry saw Credence’s shoulders begin to rise as he somehow curled in on himself without changing position, and panicked. 

“Uh – hi, I’m so sorry I just barged in – I, er, I was…” he trailed off, realizing that this wasn’t leading anywhere remotely useful. 

“It’s alright.”

               Harry’s cheeks were burning, and he gave a laugh to hide at least some of his embarrassment. 

“Good morning?..” he tried. 

               The corners of Credence’s mouth tilted up – just a smidge.  Harry gave a mental victory dance.  He wasn’t completely lost in the social department, then. 

“Good morning,” Credence replied, marking the page in his book with the bright violet ribbon that hung down from the binding, and standing up.  “Um – were you looking for something?..” 

“Not really,” Harry lied.  Telling a guy that he was actively tracking him down – with magic, no less – was out of the question.  “Just exploring.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah – woke up early, got bored, the castle is awesome…  I bumped into Modesty in the garden,” Harry told him, as he crossed over to the window.  “She’s…  A very interesting kid.” 

               A plain creepy kid, actually. 

“She is,” Credence nodded.  “I think she knows every inch of this place by now – if you’d like some company exploring – ”

“I’m good,” said Harry hastily.  “Plus, I’m not sure how far from the castle we can stray before her mum finds me and murders me – ”

“Fair,” Credence agreed. 

               The tall, arched window was letting in a rippling stream of light, and it danced on his dark hair.  The morning clouds have by then turned a pristine white – as if they’d been freshly washed and fluffed.  The sky breathed with a piercing blue behind them, as the valley slowly lost its golden sheen. 

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?..” Harry sighed, his nose less than an inch from the glass, and his eyes roaming far away.  He traced the faint shapes of distant mountains with his gaze, rising blue near the horizon.  “It seems almost – magic.” 

“I like to think it is,” Credence said softly.  “Sometimes, I can almost believe that.” 

               He’d set the book aside completely, and was standing next to Harry.  They stood there together, staring at the world below – vaguely acknowledging each other’s presence, and saying nothing.  It was quiet, save for the persistent chirping on the other side of the glass. 

“Modesty said she saw a unicorn here,” Harry said with what he hoped was nonchalance, finally turning to him. 

               Credence was still looking out of the window. 

“I know.” 

               Harry crossed his fingers and held his breath. 

“So she’s right, you saw it?..” he asked. 

               Credence was silent for a moment, his shoulders tensing – so slightly that Harry almost didn’t notice that reaction. 

“I mostly said that to humor her,” he said eventually.  “I mean, I did see a stray white horse – she probably saw it too.  But it was nice to pretend this was, I don’t know…  Some kind of magic castle, I suppose.” 

“Hm.” 

               Credence exhaled, and a foggy patch dimmed the glass, immediately starting to shrink.  

“I know, it’s ridiculous.” 

“What? – no, no, it’s not,” Harry protested.  “I – I think it’s great, actually.  This place is almost magic anyway, isn’t it?” 

               Credence looked up, and he was almost smiling.  It would’ve looked peaceful – if it wasn’t for the dark, swirling sadness in his eyes. 

“I suppose it is,” he murmured, half to himself, and was silent again. 

               Harry leaned back on the polished stones.  His elbow rested against cool glass – the window was carved into the thick castle wall. 

“I’m sure it’s magic,” he decided.  “A place this beautiful simply can’t be just…  Nothing.  I’m sure it’s littered with ley lines, and weird hotspots, and whatever else – ” 

               He glanced over at Credence, watching him pick at his fingers. 

“Could be aliens, too…  Anyway, there’s gotta be something,” he concluded. 

“There is the Fairy Gate,” Credence said slowly. 

               Harry had to physically stop himself from whirling around, grabbing him by the shoulders, and yelling, _Where?!_ – he’d be in a load of shit from Savage if that happened. 

“Seriously?..” he asked excitedly instead.  “Like, from the legend?” 

“Yes,” Credence said, nodding.  “Well, not exactly – it’s just what people around here call that big gorge in the mountain range, just a kilometer or so west of here.  That’s where the fairy gate opens.” 

“You mean for real or – ”

“In the legend,” he clarified.  “Not, uh, not for real.  It’s just a hole in the ground.” 

“Huh.  Pity,” Harry sighed.  “It would be cool if it was actually.  You know…  You’re sure it’s not real?” 

“I am.  I once – I once tried to climb down there, when I was a kid.  Almost broke my neck, but there aren’t any fairies…  And the rocks are sharp on the bottom.” 

“Ouch,” Harry sympathised.  “You didn’t actually land on them, though?” 

               Credence blinked at him. 

“I didn’t,” he said.  “I fell on a slope – it breaks off into the main part of the gorge.” 

               Harry nodded, impressed. 

“Lucky, that.” 

“I guess.” 

“You survived!” Harry argued.  He could practically feel the sting of the Killing Curse on his chest as he said the word.  “That’s like, the best luck you can have, ever!” 

“If you say so,” Credence acquiesced, turning away from the window.  “It’s – it’s almost time for breakfast.  Are you going?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said.  “Starving, actually.” 

“Oh – we can take a shortcut, then,” Credence nodded.  “Hold on – I just need to – ”

               He crossed over to the middle of the room, where a light round table stood piled with books, and picked up the heaviest one, smudged silver print glinting on its dark cover. 

“It’s a history of the castle,” he explained to Harry’s quizzical expression.  “After all that talk about ghosts last night, Modesty wanted to read the legends – the murder ones – ”

“Of _course_ she did,” grunted Harry. 

               Why was this kid so morbid?..   _He_ was morbid, but he was allowed, he died once –

“Showed up in my room at five in the morning to ask permission,” Credence smiled a little, leafing through the book before tucking it under his arm. 

“Oh.   _Ouch_.” 

“I wasn’t angry with her,” Credence said.  “She’s nice.” 

“Nice or not, still.  Ouch,” Harry laughed.  “Man, that kid…  I’ve got a feeling one of my friends was exactly like her when she was little, and I just didn’t notice – where’s that shortcut, by the way?” 

“Oh – right here,” Credence motioned at him to follow, and stepped up to one of the bookshelves. 

               He ran his fingers over the bindings before pressing down on a brick-like poetry collection.  Harry held his breath – this was too good to be true.  A faint whirring buzzed somewhere inside the wall, and the bookshelf clicked to swing towards them, revealing a dark, narrow passage. 

“There’s – there’s no lights,” Credence said, pulling out a torch from his pocket.  “Sorry.” 

“Are you seriously apologizing for a real, honest-to-god secret passage?..” Harry gasped in exaggerated shock.  “Man, this is the best day of my life!” 

“Thanks,” Credence almost smiled, and stepped into the corridor, the ray from his torch bouncing off the slightly damp walls. 

               Harry followed quickly, excitement prickling at his skin.  This case was just too good to be real. 

“This is great,” he mused out loud.  “It’s like living in a real haunted castle – there’s always secret passages and shit like that…  And maybe a few corpses in the walls, but that’s details.” 

“I don’t think we have any corpses,” Credence said apologetically. 

“Eh, who knows.  You haven’t renovated the West Wing yet, right?..  Could always be some skeletons in there – from some centuries ago, hopefully.” 

“Hopefully?..” 

“Yeah – it’s not exactly fun when they’re recent,” Harry explained, and flicked a spider off Credence’s shoulder.  “Hey – this place, it – it doesn’t creep you out, does it?” 

               Credence shrugged. 

“No, not really.  I’ve been using these tunnels to get around the castle since I was eleven.” 

               Harry’s stomach performed an excited flip. 

“Tunnels?..  As in, plural?” 

“Yes,” Credence nodded.  “They run through the entire building – there’s some underground, too.  I found them when I was a kid – I’m not sure how many people really know about them now that my…  My mother is dead.” 

“Oh.  Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” he shook his head, and quickened his pace slightly. 

               Something told Harry that it was everything but.  He pushed the thought away – there was too much information to absorb even without trying to articulate some form of sympathy that didn’t sound fake and pretentious, like sympathy often did. 

               Instead, he thought of the tunnels that stayed hidden from sight – that could be used to travel unnoticed, like a ghost – that threaded through the whole castle, and could be used to access the empty, locked West Wing –

               Except there was dirt on that handle.  Obviously from somebody turning it – so they must’ve come through the small door. 

               They must’ve passed right next to him and Malfoy last night – the dirt hadn’t dried yet, he now realized. 

               They were watching the whole time. 

 

“Amazing,” Malfoy huffed, arranging thin, hopelessly empty folders of information on the heavy desk in his room.  “This is like…  Like having a _second_ fucking castle to sweep.” 

               Harry groaned. 

“Don’t remind me.” 

               Malfoy flipped through the surge reports, and dropped the folder into its place – centered in the middle of the table.  All the other information seemed to revolve around it. 

“Do we at least know where the tunnels are?” 

“No,” Harry admitted.  “Credence just showed me the one, and I couldn’t find any myself – what were you doing all day?” 

               Malfoy grimaced.

“Everything you can’t,” he said.  “Talking to people.” 

“Hey!” Harry protested.  “I was the one who got all that stuff about the passages, and the Fairy Gate – ”

“That was luck,” Malfoy smirked.  “You simply found the one person in this castle who is more awkward than you.” 

               Harry grunted. 

“Whatever.  And Credence isn’t awkward.  He’s just…  Shy, I guess.” 

“That’s just another word for awkward.” 

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, giving him a light shove, and receiving a glare in return.  “What’d you find out?..” 

“Not much,” Malfoy confessed reluctantly.  “There is one curious detail, though.  Literally everybody in the castle is a recent addition – except Credence and Charlotte.” 

“Wait, you mean – ”

“Here,” Malfoy tossed him a notebook.  “I wrote it all down.” 

               He sat down next to Harry on the bed, and tapped his long finger against the page, which was covered in spiky, elegant writing. 

“See, most of the previous occupants – staff and guests alike – left soon after the previous owner died…”

“Credence’s mum,” Harry nodded. 

“Right, he told you – anyway, that was just a few months ago…  And here, look at the report from the day of her death.”

               Malfoy Summoned the folder, and flipped it open in his lap.  Harry’s eyebrows went up. 

“Wow.” 

“Major surge – spikes even above the usual,” Malfoy confirmed.  “Should’ve been cataclysmic, but not a single Muggle in the know.” 

“A wizard could’ve panicked and Obliviated everyone in the area,” Harry suggested. 

“Only one wizard down in the village.  A very bored Ministry official, looks like that Weasley – the one with a stick up his arse.  He wouldn’t brew a Pepper-Up without paperwork.”

               Harry bit his lip. 

“Okay.  I see what you mean.  This is weird.” 

               Malfoy gasped. 

“You don’t say?..” 

“Oh, shut up.  So, what is it then – a completely random, impossibly powerful magical force shows up out of nowhere, in this middle of nowhere, murders one random woman, and vanishes – ”

“Into nowhere,” Malfoy finished for him.  “Exactly.  Technically, the cause of death was ruled accidental, but I wouldn’t trust Muggle death certificates.” 

               Harry gave him a confused look. 

“Muggle?” 

“That’s all we’ve got.” 

“You mean nobody from the Ministry even looked into that?..  After a burst of magic strong enough to level a city?” 

“Well, it didn’t, did it?” Malfoy shrugged.  “And anyway, the Ministry _is_ investigating.  We’re here – what’d you glean from the gorge, anyhow?” 

               Harry made a vague noise. 

“It’s…  Odd,” he said.  “Residual traces of magic, but nothing concrete.  No spells, no dark rituals, no potion stains, nada.” 

“Like in the West Wing?” 

“Yeah, exactly,” affirmed Harry.  “I only knew there was anything there because it kept tripping up the diagnostics.  It’s like…  Pure chaos.” 

“Hm.  Must be your kindred spirit.” 

“Malfoy – ”

“Alright, whatever.  What’s the place itself like?..  Could anyone set up shop?” 

               Harry shook his head. 

“No chance.  The only bit that looks remotely safe is in plain sight, even Disillusionment wouldn’t help.” 

“Fucking great.” 

               Malfoy fell back on the bed, his hair fanning out around his face, which breathed melodrama.  He stared at the ceiling. 

“Why is it always us?” he questioned miserably.  “We’re always the pair with the weird cases...” 

“I’m weird, you’re weird – I’m pretty sure Savage picks them on purpose,” Harry shrugged.  “I mean, can you picture Robards working this?..  Or Dawlish?” 

               Malfoy laughed softly. 

“Don’t make me.” 

“Ha-ha.  Suffer.” 

               The sweet smell of a warm summer night wafted in through the window, which was open just a crack.  The sky beyond was darker than the depths of the Fairy Gate, and studded with stars – which shone like tiny punctures in a sheet of black silk.  It was as if another world did indeed begin outside, and they were sitting in a small capsule that contained the last remnants of a fallen order. 

               Harry glanced through Malfoy’s notes, smiling to himself.  They were bickering, they were on yet another fucked-up case, and everything was right in the world.  Except for whatever lived in the West Wing, maybe – but they could deal with it.  Probably. 

“What do you think is going on?” he asked. 

               Malfoy groaned. 

“I’m not making another of those stupid bets, Potter.” 

“But seriously,” Harry pressed on.  “I mean, I’ve no idea either, so it’s completely fair this time – ”

“Last time I ended up buying drinks for the entire Weasley family!” 

“Wow, what a horrible punishment,” Harry snorted.  “You’re rich, Malfoy.”  

“Not anymore, I’m not,” Malfoy said sulkily.  “They all brought _spouses_ with them, Potter.  And cousins.  And a grandma.” 

“Great-aunt, actually,” Harry corrected.  “And it would’ve been rude not to invite her, she dropped in for a visit at Ron and Hermione’s – ”

“Shut up.  I hate you.  And every Weasley cousin in existence.” 

               Harry grinned. 

“Alright.  I’ll relieve you of my presence for now, then,” he conceded, getting up. 

“What?..” 

               Malfoy craned his neck up to look at him, and Harry tossed his notebook back. 

“I’m gonna go to my room,” he told him.  “I mean, I did finally move some of my stuff there – ”

“Oh,” Malfoy said, and let his head fall back on the mattress.  “Well.  Get out of here, then.  Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, and all that.” 

               Harry paused by the door, frowning. 

“Er – are you alright?”

“Absolutely.” 

               Malfoy was still staring at the ceiling, as if it held all the answers in the universe.  His expression was painstakingly blank – or maybe Harry just couldn’t read it for shit. 

“Okay,” he gave up.  “Good night.” 

               His hand was already resting on the handle, when he suddenly realized that there was somebody standing on the other side of the door. 

               He could hear breathing – heavy, wheezing breaths, and a rustling, as if the person was shuffling from one foot to another in front of the entrance.  There was a drawn-out sigh – and then a hoarse, cachinnatory laugh rang out behind the door. 

               Harry jerked back.  The laugh slurred and coughed, until it receded – uneven footsteps slowly moving away along the corridor.  Then everything was quiet. 

               Malfoy sat up on the bed. 

“Change of plan,” he said, his voice harsh and final.  “You’re not going anywhere tonight, Potter.  In fact, we’d better keep to the same room every night – at least that way we’ll have reinforcements.” 

               Harry pretended not to notice the happy leap in his chest which happened at that.


	3. Chapter 3

“No!  No, no, please, don’t!” 

               _Harry was running, and everything was falling apart around him.  People crying out, frightened faces – ones he knew – all of them screaming, collapsing, dying –_

“No…  No, I can’t, please, don’t die, please, no, no, no – ”

               _They were begging him to stop, but he couldn’t – couldn’t – and their voices infuriated him._

_There was a storm in the back of his mind, and it was destroying everything – he was the one destroying everything, hurting everything he came across.  He couldn’t stop, there was a roaring pain in his chest – and he was trapped – he was so angry, he wanted to blast these walls to dust –_

_He could tear it all down._

_He could rip the world apart, because there was a thunderstorm under his skin._

“Stop, stop, I can’t, I’m scared, please help me – ”

               _He heard screams, somewhere below – because he was tearing through the air, and below people were screaming, they were hurting, and he couldn’t help – he couldn’t run away, he was chained there, he was forced to watch as they all fell –_

“Potter!  Potter – ”

“No, no, I can’t – ”

“Potter, wake up!” 

               Harry snapped awake.  There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him into consciousness, and he jerked back, a scream frozen in his throat –

“Potter,” the voice repeated, and Harry finally made the connection between the hand and Malfoy’s pale face, which swam slowly into his field of vision, frowning with concern. 

“Malfoy,” he breathed.  “Oh god, Malfoy…” 

               Harry pitched forward before he could stop himself.  He practically flung himself at Malfoy, wrapping his arms tightly around him, and buried his face in Malfoy’s shirt.  He inhaled its warm, citrus-like scent, and the lump in his throat finally gave way.  

               He sobbed, gasping and shuddering as tears clogged his airpipe, but refusing to let go.  Malfoy’s hand touched Harry’s back – tentatively at first, but then pressing closer and joined by the second as he returned the hug. 

“Potter, it’s alright,” he murmured into Harry’s hair.  “It was just a nightmare…” 

“I-it was…  I c-couldn’t do anything,” Harry choked out.  “They were all hurt, they were dying, and I didn’t do anything – ” 

“It wasn’t real.  No-one’s dead.  Everything is alright.” 

“I know.  I know…”    

               Harry sniffled, and a new flood of tears came rushing through.  His entire body felt weak and trembled as he whined and coughed them out.  It was the worst it’s been in years, and he clung to Malfoy helplessly.  Malfoy was safe. 

“I’m – I’m so glad you’re s-still alive,” Harry mumbled, attempting a smile, but it twisted itself into a teary grimace.  “I d-didn’t know if you were okay…” 

“Don’t worry.  I’m alright,” Malfoy promised, his arms tightening around Harry’s shoulders.  “See, I’m right here.  Not a scratch on me.” 

               Harry sniffed in response, and turned his face to rest his cheek against Malfoy’s chest.  He could feel it rising and falling evenly, and there was something infinitely calming about that. 

               Malfoy’s hand was stroking his back gently.  His shirt was getting wet, but he didn’t seem to mind, letting Harry sag mutely in his arms, wallowing in his misery. 

“Everything’s fine,” Malfoy whispered.  “It was just a dream.” 

               Harry’s breathing was now slowing, though hiccups still made him shiver from time to time.    He smiled weakly as he stared blearily at the window, which was a dim square of light in the wall.  Everything behind it blurred together, but he could see the morning dawn even without his glasses.

“Just a dream,” he muttered to himself, his eyelids fluttering closed. 

               It was just a dream…  And now it was gone, he was awake, everyone was safe, and Malfoy was there with him –  

“I – I’m sorry I woke you up,” Harry whispered into Malfoy’s shirt. 

               Malfoy’s hand went up to card softly through his tangled hair. 

“It’s alright,” he said quietly.  “Almost morning, anyhow.” 

“Hm.” 

               Harry smiled, the last wisps of fear slowly dissipating from his body.  There was still that torn, wet feeling in his throat, but even that seemed harmless – like the smell of earth after a storm. 

“I think the Tempus is about go off,” Malfoy said pensively, stroking Harry’s hair.  “And on one hand, I’d like to turn it off before that pesky beeping ruins my mood…” 

               He trailed off. 

“What about the other hand?” Harry asked, his curiosity peaking. 

“I’m too fucking lazy,” sighed Malfoy resignedly.  “I don’t want to move.  At all.” 

               Harry grinned. 

“So don’t,” he said.  “I stole your last ten minutes of sleep, I’ll turn it off.” 

               Malfoy gave his ear a half-hearted tug. 

“Don’t.  I don’t want _you_ to move, either.” 

“Who said I will?..” 

“What are you – ”

               Harry laughed softly, and snapped his fingers, squinting at the haze of the spell above their bed. 

“Ow!” 

               He was jolted out of the comfortable daze, pushing Malfoy off to sit up.  As soon as his fingers clicked in the quiet room, a silver spark appeared at the tips of his nails with a vicious crackle, and ran down his hand, sending spidery lightning into the air at each knuckle –

“Ow, fuck, shit, ouchie – ” Harry chanted, shaking his hand, while the Tempus exploded violently over his head. 

               The lightning sizzled and dissipated.  He sighed with relief at that, though the skin on his thumb and his middle finger was still burned and tender.  He blew on them cautiously, almost expecting them to flare up again, but his hand appeared to be perfectly normal. 

“Potter.” 

“Yeah?” Harry responded absentmindedly, wiggling his fingers.   _What the fuck –_

“What the fuck was that?” Malfoy demanded, sitting up as well.  “That thing on your forehead not enough for you?” 

“What?..  No, no – I’ve no idea what it was,” Harry said honestly, and poked the thin layer of skin around his nails.  It seemed to be fine. 

“Right.” 

“Seriously – not a clue,” Harry insisted, and brought his hand closer to his face, squinting at a small scratch on his index finger.  That _was_ there before, wasn’t it?..  Fuck if he knew. 

               Malfoy glared at him, and grabbed his hand, pulling it over.  His face was scrunched up in scrutiny.  Finally, he gave up and pushed it back at Harry. 

“It _looks_ alright,” he said reluctantly, and scowled at Harry again.  “What the hell were you thinking, throwing wandless magic around like that?” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually do that!” Harry argued.  “It just does the normal spell…  Thing.  I don’t know what happened here, it – it was weird.” 

“No shit.” 

               Malfoy studied his face for a moment, before a startled expression took over his features.  He raised his own hand, and seemed to feel the air with it, bringing it around in wide, swooping strokes.  His eyebrows rose, and he twisted around, lunging to pull his wand from under his pillow. 

“What’re you – ”

“Potter, shut up!” he snapped.  “Can’t you – can’t you _feel_ it?..” 

               Harry watched confusedly as Malfoy twirled his wand around, muttering under his breath – until patches of light blossomed to life everywhere around them, like a fog. 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Uh – what’s that supposed to mean?..” Harry asked. 

“There’s been another surge.” 

“What, you mean during the night?”

“I’d say about half an hour ago,” Malfoy said, biting his lip.  He paused, then brought his fingers through his hair anxiously, and poked a small cluster of lights with his wand. 

               They pulsed, and he groaned. 

“Great.  Still nothing.” 

“No actual spells?” Harry guessed. 

“None,” he confirmed.  “The entire castle is swimming with it, and it’s just – it’s nothing.  Raw power, and no point to it.  At all.” 

               Harry frowned. 

"I suppose that’s what messed up my spell.” 

“You suppose right.”

“I should mark the date,” Harry hummed, and laughed when Malfoy swatted lightly at his head.  “Damn, this thing is really getting annoying.” 

“Whatever,” Malfoy grunted.  “I don’t fucking care – let’s just get up.” 

               He threw the covers off, and set his feet on the floor.  Almost immediately, a shiver went through him, and he inhaled noisily, scrambling back on the mattress, and pulling the blanket over his legs.  Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Um – Malfoy?..  You alright?” 

               Malfoy glowered at the floor. 

“It’s _cold_ ,” he complained.  “It has no right to be this cold, it’s _June_.” 

               Harry laughed. 

“Seriously?..  It can’t be that bad – ”

               He poked his own legs from under the covers, and a chill ran through his bones.  The room was impossibly, despicably cold, despite the first rays of sunshine that lay on the floor. 

               Harry frowned.  He threw off the blanket quickly, barely remembering to grab his wand, and pushed himself off the bed, standing up and stretching before moving towards the toilet. 

“Potter, what the fuck?..” Malfoy inquired after him. 

“Trust me,” Harry called back, trying to find something to Transfigure into a toothbrush.  “It’s better when you plunge right in – ”

“It’s better when you’re insane,” Malfoy scoffed.  The bedsprings creaked as he flopped down again.  “Or related to bears, or something – ”

“Bears hibernate in winter,” Harry told him.  “And your body gets used to things sooner when there’s no temperature difference…  Listen, you got a pen?” 

“What do you need a pen for?” 

“To brush my teeth.” 

“As one generally does,” Malfoy snorted, his voice dripping with judgement – but a second later, a floating pen came sailing into the loo. 

               Harry snatched it out of the air. 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome…  Go on, smear your teeth with ink, or whatever it is you do in the mornings.  In any case, that would explain your breath – ”

“Shudduff,” Harry slurred through a mouth full of toothpaste.  “I Trassighured ish – ”

“Pardon?” 

               Harry could _hear_ the fucking smirk.  He spat into the sink. 

“I Transfigured it,” he explained.  “So, heads-up – my toothbrush is the red one.” 

               Malfoy groaned. 

“You’re so fucking predictable, it hurts.” 

“So?  Yours is green.” 

               There was a contemplative silence. 

“Touché.”

“Exactly,” grinned Harry, and borrowed Malfoy’s razor. 

               Minutes later, he sauntered back into the room, fresh and fully awake.  The sun had brightened by then, but the cold lingered on – not that Harry could feel it anymore.  Malfoy, however, remained in bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket cocoon and looking for all the world like a grumpy caterpillar. 

“Malfoy.  It’s your turn to use the loo,” Harry sang, plopping down on the bed.  It bounced a little under his weight, and Malfoy gave him a Look. 

“I know why it’s so cold,” he said pompously. 

               Harry raised an eyebrow, and Summoned his glasses from the night-table. 

“Why?” 

“There’s a…  Fan.  In the corner, and it’s cooling down the room.  I think it’s been on all night.” 

“What? – ” 

               Harry turned his head to look in the far corner of the room – suddenly vividly aware of the faint whirring sound that emanated from there.  A small electric fan stood directed straight towards the bed, sending waves of cold rolling along the floor. 

               He got up and walked over, bending down to examine the thing.  It was a normal fan – the kind he’d seen in almost every Muggle residence.  Its dial pointed smugly at the highest setting. 

               Harry frowned. 

“That…  Wasn’t here in the evening, was it?..”

“Decidedly not,” Malfoy confirmed, and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. 

               Harry twisted the dial counter-clockwise.  It clicked, and the paddles gradually slowed to a stop. 

“Is that it?..” Malfoy asked.  The bed creaked as he leaned over to get a better look. 

“Yup,” Harry nodded, and straightened up. 

“Good,” Malfoy breathed with relief.  “At least now the Warming Charms will hold…  How the fuck did it end up in our room?” 

“How should I know?” Harry shrugged.  He scratched his head, trying not to think of the ruffled mess he was creating up there.  “You _did_ put the shielding charms on, right?” 

               Malfoy sniffed haughtily. 

“You insult me, Potter.  Of course, I did!” 

“Look, you said you charmed the bushes too, but then Modesty – ”

“Modesty was obviously inside the hedge when I performed the spells,” Malfoy protested.  “The charm saw her as a part of the natural setting – ”

“Whatever,” Harry waved him off.  “What else…  I know I did the door – did you charm the window?”

               Malfoy glared at him from inside his blanket burrito. 

“You know I wouldn’t leave it open otherwise.” 

               Harry nodded. 

“Okay, fair.  You’re paranoid and cleared…  Except…” he started slowly, and broke off. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“That means there was a third person in the room when we shielded it.” 

               There was a short, horrified pause.  Then Malfoy threw off his blanket furiously, and sat up on the bed. 

“No.  No, no way,” he said with conviction.  “We did a _Homenum_ -fucking- _Revelio_ , we were alone in this fucking room!  There wasn’t anyone else.  No way.” 

               He shot the fan a murderous look, shivered, and cast several violent Warming Charms.  Harry chuckled nervously, and went over to sit next to him. 

"Fine,” he said.  “So, there wasn’t anyone in the room – but then how the fuck did they get in?..  It’s not like they could just deactivate the shields, an alarm would go off – ” 

“I’m aware,” Malfoy snapped.  “But we shielded the window, and the door, and it’s not Hogwarts – so it’s not likely anyone climbed in through the toilet!” 

“Point taken.” 

“It better be.  Myrtle’s the only person who does that…  That I know of, that is,” Malfoy added pensively.  “Do you think Filch could pull it off?..  I heard he knows every secret passage in the castle – ” 

               Harry’s head jerked up practically on its own. 

"Shit.  Malfoy, that’s it.” 

               Malfoy stared at him. 

“Filch?..” he asked skeptically – and then comprehension flooded his face.  “Oh.” 

“The passages – Credence said they run through the entire building,” Harry said agitatedly, twisting around to face him.  “There could be one in this room – hell, they’re probably in _every_ room – " 

“And since they’re hidden, walking through one would be like phasing through the wall,” Malfoy finished, glancing around.  “Magically speaking, that is.” 

"Ugh.  Merlin, that’s…  Kinda creepy,” Harry grimaced. 

"Potter, you think Modesty is creepy.  You’re no judge.” 

"Oh, shut up,” Harry groaned.  “She _is_ creepy, end of story.  Where do you think the passage is?” 

             Malfoy was silent for a moment, thinking. 

"Well,” he said finally, drawing out the word.  “It’s a Muggle castle, so there won’t be any specific spells on the entrance – it should be enough to find a hollow part of the wall, and then shield it.” 

"Like a door,” Harry nodded.  “Makes sense.  Now go brush your teeth while I deal with it.  Fuck, I can’t stand the thought of somebody lurking in the walls…” 

“To sneak into our room at night, no less,” Malfoy smirked, sparking his eyes with a devilish glint. 

               Harry shuddered. 

"Shut up.” 

               Malfoy grinned. 

"Scared, Potter?” he drawled happily. 

"You wish,” Harry grunted in automatic response, and went to knock on a wall. 

               As they made their way to the dining room, it became increasingly apparent that the fan wasn’t a personal fuck-you, despite its ominous placement.  The entire castle was humming with spinning paddles, and the stone walls were cold as ice.  The sun glittered in the windows as the world bloomed outside – but within the confines of the building, it felt like November come early. 

               Large fans whirred from the ceilings. 

               Small ones buzzed stubbornly from every corner. 

"Why are there so many in the first place?..” Malfoy whined, scowling at the fan that stood near the table.  “How could this be a necessity?” 

               The fan hummed unapologetically, twisting around to face him, and spat a puff of cold air. 

"The castle gets rather stuffy in the summer, I hear,” Queenie explained as she walked in.  “They _are_ very helpful then – but that’s not until July…” 

               She clicked a button to turn the fan off, and pulled her pink cardigan tighter around her elegant shoulders. 

"They’re on everywhere, aren’t they?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer.  “We woke up with one in our room – ” 

“ _Draco!_ ” 

“Umf!” 

               Modesty barreled into Malfoy like a tiny, sticky javelin, and he nearly fell over. 

“He-ey there, monkey,” he coughed, while her tiny arms clamped unyieldingly around his middle.  “What happened?” 

“I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Malfoy,” Dr. Bai apologized nervously, following her daughter through the door.  “She – she was very impatient to see you today – ” 

“Draco, I saw her!” Modesty looked up, her eyes wide.  She was quivering.  “You were right, she’s a witch, but it’s not Charlotte, it’s _not_ – I think Charlotte has an evil twin – who’s a _witch_ – " 

“Modesty, slow down,” Malfoy said, carefully peeling her off his shirt.  “Relax.  Take a deep breath, see, like this…” 

               Modesty gave a big huff along with him, and he smiled at her. 

"That was good,” he nodded.  “Now.  Who did you see?” 

“The witch,” Modesty said. 

“And she looks like – ” 

“But she’s not,” Modesty interrupted.  “She’s not Charlotte – she – she moves different.” 

               Malfoy’s face was serious, and he crouched down, until they were at the same level – before continuing his interrogation. 

“How did she move?” 

“Like – um – I don’t _know_ ,” Modesty whined with frustration.  “She, she was just different.  More sticky.” 

               Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Sticky?” 

“Like she was stuck,” Modesty explained, looking up at him.  “In glue.” 

               He remembered the West Wing Woman’s slow, heavy movements, and nodded understanding.  Kneeling on the floor beside Modesty, Malfoy did the same.  Dr. Bai was frowning at the whole scene. 

“Modesty,” Malfoy said slowly.  “Where…  Where did you see her?” 

               Modesty’s pinched little face was full of fear as she stared back at him, imploringly. 

“In our room,” she whispered.  “She was in our room.” 

               A silence hung over them after that.  All eyes were fixed on the girl, and fans droned on in the background. 

“What?” snapped Dr. Bai. 

“She was in the room, Mum!” insisted Modesty, whirling around.  “I – I had a nightmare, and I woke up – it was still dark outside, but, but she had a candle with her, I saw her!” 

“Modesty, you couldn’t have, you know that!  I always lock the doors at night – ” 

“I…  I don’t think she came through the door,” Modesty said quietly.    

               Her voice quivered, and she flung herself at her mother, hugging her tight. 

"It – it wasn’t a dream, Mum,” she sniffled, her eyes watery.  “She was _there_ …” 

“What – ” 

               Dr. Bai’s shoulders sagged helplessly as she hugged her daughter back.  Her eyes searched the small audience, as if begging for an explanation. 

“Modesty,” she said softly.  “There wasn’t any way she’d get in.  The door is very heavy, and I locked it, like I always do…  It must’ve been a nightmare…” 

“It _wasn’t_ ,” Modesty wailed, clutching her blouse like a vice. 

“Okay.  Okay,” Dr. Bai bit her lip, and stroked Modesty’s thin hair.  “Um.  Well.  We’ll just have to do something about that, then, right?..  We’ll have to make sure she never gets in again.” 

              Modesty looked up eagerly. 

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Dr. Bai nodded.  “I’m – I’m sure Mr. Malfoy will help us, _won’t he?_ ” 

               Harry knew, at that point, that if it was him she directed the words at instead, he would visibly swallow.  Dr. Bai reminded him oddly of McGonagall – in the most terrifying of ways.  Malfoy, however, merely blinked before his face quickly structured itself into a flawless smile. 

“It will be my pleasure,” he said with a little bow.  “In fact, I’ll do it right now.” 

               Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“What?  Now?” 

“Why not?” Malfoy shrugged.  “Breakfast’s only in fifteen minutes, you know we came down early…  That gives me ample time.”    

“Oh!” Modesty perked up.  “Can I come, too?..  Please!” 

"Hm.” 

              Malfoy appeared to be considering it.  Harry made a significant face at him – and another, trying to point at Modesty with his eyes, and wishing he could yell with his mind.   _The Statute of Secrecy, Malfoy_ , he thought aggressively.   _The fucking Statute, you –_

“Only if you don’t look when I’m doing magic,” Malfoy said seriously.  “It’s dangerous if you don’t have any experience – you’ll learn one day, but not now.” 

               Harry frantically fought down what was almost an audible groan.  Modesty, however, had a giant smile on her face. 

“I will?” she asked excitedly. 

“Definitely,” Malfoy assured her.  “Sometime next year, probably – oh, you’ll love it.” 

"I will, I will!  It’s a special school, isn’t it?..  A _magic_ school – ” 

               She grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the exit. 

“Exactly,” Malfoy confirmed, turning back and smirking just enough to drive Harry round the twist.  “It’s in a castle – like this one, only bigger – and there’s a giant guarding the place, well, a giant and a half, actually…” 

               The door clicked behind them, and Harry congratulated himself on not using it to crack his skull. 

               The breakfast was a relatively quiet affair.  Malfoy returned with Modesty in tow seconds before Jacob made a spectacular entrance, bearing a platter delicately arranged with cupcakes.  Smiling and talking lightly among themselves, Adam and Charlotte walked in after him – with a little basket of blood-red strawberries from the greenhouse.  Credence materialized soon after that, and the meal began. 

               Conversation mostly consisted of Modesty’s chatter – according to her, magic was the best thing in the world since sliced bread, and everybody at the table should have their rooms witch-proofed. 

               To that, Jacob argued that no witch is getting past him anyway. 

               Meanwhile, the fans hummed and whirred monotonously, like one unending inhale.  They went about their task of indefinitely cooling the castle down – quietly, inconspicuously, and ruthlessly.  Even though the one next to the dining table remained off, a chill was already working its way through the floor, and into Harry’s feet – 

“My,” Queenie shivered delicately.  “We really have to do something about those fans.” 

“I say we all get together, each take a part of the castle, and go turn them off,” Jacob offered.  “Mission for today, so to speak.” 

“Ohh, a mission,” Adam grinned.  “Can we have codenames?” 

               Harry sighed, preparing himself for what was sure to be a long day. 

               He was proved right an hour later, when he was combing his portion of the outrageously large castle, turning off every fan he could find – which meant he had to go into every room he saw.  It was exhausting, and he regretted ever agreeing with Jacob’s idea.  It would be better to let the goddamn fans run, and just wear more layers. 

               Personally, he didn’t even feel the cold, so it wasn’t his problem in the first place - 

“A valiant struggle, Scarhead.” 

               Harry whipped around.  Malfoy stood leaning on the doorframe, his expression that of maddening nonchalance – as if he didn’t just catch Harry in the middle of a pathetic attempt to turn off the ceiling fan.  He was just missing a bloody inch to that little chain that hung from it, mockingly – 

               Their eyes met, and Harry flushed.  Malfoy smirked. 

“Then again, I still maintain that your codename should’ve been Shorty,” he drawled.  “It’s only your luck that you still have a few inches on Modesty – ” 

"What’re you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry glared at him, and let his hand drop down.  “You had the East side, didn’t you?..” 

"A third of its lived-in bit,” Malfoy corrected.  “And since I’m done, I’ve come down to the wild North…  Just to see your pretty face, of course.” 

“Get to the point.” 

               Malfoy gave a short laugh. 

“Well, no need to get so embarrassed, Potter.  Your face is rather pretty, height isn’t such a big deal when it comes to appearances anyway – but I digress.” 

“Good, that,” Harry snapped, praying that the burning in his face wasn’t showing. 

               Malfoy hummed thoughtfully. 

"I do have something you need to hear,” he said, pushing himself off the doorframe, and moving closer, until they were almost face-to-face.  “That unicorn story may have some…  Credence in it after all.” 

               Harry blinked. 

“What?” 

               Malfoy smiled innocently, and leaned in closer, his lips hovering a hair away from Harry’s ear. 

“He’s got a whiff of magic around him,” he murmured.  “Seems more animal than anything, so I’d…  I’d ask him about the unicorn again.” 

“A-and you know that – how, exactly?” 

               Malfoy scoffed, and stepped away slightly – to give Harry the full view of his pitying expression. 

“I _felt_ it,” he said, in a tone which implied that this was the most obvious thing in the world.  “Obviously.  It’s not as if I could whip out my wand and wave it in his face – ” 

“Alright, I get it,” Harry grunted.  “So, what now?” 

               Malfoy grinned. 

“Now – now I’m going to relax for a while.  And you should run along, Potter.  You’ve got an interrogation to perform.” 

               Harry watched him turn around gracefully, and swan out of the room.  They were supposed to be masquerading as Muggle hikers – but Malfoy moved as if he was taking part in an actual masquerade.  He wore the grey jeans like they were the costume of a prince, and his simple black T-shirt breathed status. 

               A crowned Malfoy appeared in the back of Harry’s mind, smirking as he strolled through an ornate ballroom.  Harry shook his head nervously, trying to get rid of him, and failed miserably. 

               He accepted defeat by stomping along his patch, which kept on humming tauntingly.  He’d lost count of the fans he’d pulled the plug on, and he was beginning to think that they somehow restored themselves while he was distracted – 

               Harry turned the corner, and collided with a thick blond beard.  He leaped back frantically. 

“Aargh – !” 

“What the – oh.  Hey, Harry,” Adam greeted him cheerfully. 

“Uh,” Harry said.  “Hey.  Sorry ‘bout that, I – I wasn’t looking where I was going – ” 

“Eh, water under a bridge,” Adam gave him a shrug, and grinned.  “I did scare you though, didn’t I?..  Christ, you should’ve seen your face.” 

“Yeah, ha-ha,” Harry scowled, and immediately forced it off his face.  This wasn’t Malfoy.  “Ugh, I’m sorry, I’m not in the best mood – ” 

“You’re still funny,” Adam told him with an amused glance.  “Man, I wouldn’t have picked you for a jumpy one…” 

“So?  I wouldn’t have thought you’re a bloody ghost,” Harry parried.  Screw etiquette, this guy was getting on his nerves.  “I didn’t even hear you coming – ” 

“It’s called socks, dude.” 

"What?..” 

“I don’t wear shoes inside the house,” Adam explained.  “They’re always covered with soil – you know, from the garden – so it’s easier to just leave them off.” 

“Should be illegal,” Harry mused, glancing at Adam’s grey-socked feet.  “On grounds of potential heart attacks.” 

               Adam laughed – loudly, like everything else he did. 

"Well, until one happens, I’m in the clear…  Hold on.  Is – is that the billiard room fan?” he asked, his eyes full of hope to the contrary. 

"Yeah.” 

               Adam groaned. 

“Oh fucking – I just turned that off, like, five minutes ago!” 

“Makes sense,” Harry nodded.  “Because I’m sure I turned off the one in that room there, and there it is.  Whirring.  I can hear it.” 

               Adam raised an eyebrow, and stared at Harry for a moment. 

“Okay,” he said.  “That’s impossible.  I walked right by there, and it was off.” 

"Check for yourself,” Harry shrugged.  “Fucking weird, this place is.” 

"Thanks, Yoda,” Adam called from behind the corner.  “I gathered…  You sure nobody was there to turn it on?” 

"No-one came this way.” 

“Great,” Adam sighed, and Harry heard the door slam behind him.  “Now you made it creepy.” 

              By the time he returned, Harry had the next question at the ready. 

“Speaking of creepy…” he started tentatively.  “Did you hear anything weird in the night?” 

               Adam stared. 

"Hhooo, boy,” he said finally.  “You really take that creepy thing to the next level, do you?” 

“I’m serious!” Harry argued.  “I woke up in the middle of the night today – and I thought I heard something, but now I’m – I’m not so sure.  I, uh, had a messed-up dream.” 

“Ugh,” Adam sympathised.  “Nightmares?..” 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. 

“It’s the old building,” Adam said sagely.  “All kinds of noises, and the wind howls in the old chimneys – ” 

“I guess.” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Adam promised.  “It goes away after a while…  What was the dream about?” 

               Harry recalled the excruciatingly realistic, murderous storm, and shook his head. 

“I – I don’t remember,” he lied.  “So, er…  Did you hear anything?” 

               Adam shrugged. 

“Not really,” he said.  “Uh – there was this fucked-up laugh at one point – but it was probably the TV.  It’s downstairs, the noise carries – " 

               Harry looked at him, surprised. 

“There’s a TV?” 

               Adam gave him an affronted glance. 

"Dude.  Just because we live in a castle, doesn’t mean that this is actually the Middle Ages – ” 

“I get it,” Harry said quickly.  “Stupid question…  Listen, did you see Credence anywhere?” 

“What – ?” Adam started, and broke off, suddenly becoming serious.  “Look, the fans aren’t his fault – it’s not like he’s running around the castle turning them on for kicks – ” 

"No, I know!  It’s not that – I, uh, I just meant to ask him about the trails around here,” Harry said, thinking fast.  “We did come for the hiking, you know…” 

               Adam relaxed, and grinned at him again. 

"Okay, don’t freak out,” he said peaceably.  “It’s alright, as long as you’re not being a dick.  He’s probably in the library – or his room.  Either one.” 

“Doesn’t go outside much, does he?” 

              Adam thought for a moment. 

“Nah, not really,” he said.  “Well, sometimes, in the evenings.  Mostly keeps to himself, though.” 

              The sun shone like a polished coin behind the gradually parting clouds.  Harry strolled through the castle, occasionally pulling out his wand for a few quick diagnostics – but found nothing, except the same untraceable residue that even Malfoy was unable to identify.  It hung about the castle, weaving through the persistent hum of dozens of electric fans. 

               The fucking fans – Harry glared at one as he passed by.  They remained spinning everywhere, as if an unseen force followed the inhabitants from room to room, turning on everything that was switched off.  Eventually, they gave up, and a reign of cold tightened its grip around Barebone Castle. 

               Meanwhile, Credence was proving increasingly difficult to track down.  He vanished sometime after their first battle with air conditioning, and only made an appearance at lunch.  Since then, Harry did not see a glimpse of him, despite combing the place for the past two hours. 

               It was frustrating, to say the least.  His wand would spin erratically in his palm, directing him down hallways he would never have noticed himself, it would send him climbing the steep, exhausting staircases from one floor to another – and then it would stop, pointing resolutely at a blank wall.  Soon, Harry was losing the last shreds of hope he had for a smooth investigation. 

               Credence Barebone knew how to hide. 

"No – no, don’t do this,” Harry muttered violently at his wand, which chose this particular moment to glow blue.  “This is impossible, you can’t do that – ” 

               The wand winked at him, and he groaned. 

"Aaand he’s moving again.  Lovely.” 

               The stony hall looped and cut across the castle in a feat of architecture Harry was sure was created to drive him nuts.  Stretches of it stood long, wide and straight – walls growing together almost naturally to form the ceiling.  And then Harry would turn the corner and be faced with a narrow, unexpectedly dark space that ended five steps in. 

               The light at the tip of his wand pulsed excitedly, and he quickened his pace.  His target was close, and he prayed to god, Merlin and several demons from his Auror textbook - 

"Okay, if he’s inside another fucking wall, I’m calling quits,” Harry vowed, and screeched to a halt as the wand sparked red. 

               He looked up, and his heart leapt.  Target located. 

               Then again, the honourable course of action was up for debate.  Vows were vows, and an arched niche extended deep into the stone in front of him, almost like a miniature hallway itself.  It encircled a large window, and Credence was seated beside it on the floor, leaning back on the wall.  His head rested against the glass, and his gaze was fixed on something impossibly distant. 

               Harry stowed away his wand, oddly transfixed by the scene.  It looked lonely, and infinitely sad, he thought for some reason.  The afternoon light laid stark shadows on Credence’s face, and he looked like he hadn’t slept properly in months – tired, and fragile.  Harry wondered if that was true. 

               He hoped not.  He liked Credence. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, and Credence’s head jerked up.  For a second, his eyes were wide with fear – but then they focused on Harry, and he blinked. 

"Mr. – Mr. Potter?..” 

               Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” he said blankly.  “Er – did you…  Expect somebody else or something?..” 

               Credence shook his head, his jaw tightening – though just for a moment. 

"N-no, not really,” he admitted, his eyes flickering away again.  “I, uh…  I just didn’t expect to see anyone here.” 

“Makes sense,” Harry agreed.  “It’s – it’s kinda remote, isn’t it?..  I mean, relative to the rest of the castle.” 

“It is.  I’m, I’m usually the only person to ever come here.” 

“Hm.  Nice view, though,” Harry nodded at the window, and smiled. 

               Credence almost smiled back. 

“It’s – it’s best on a clear night,” he said.  “The stars – we’re far enough from the nearest village to see them, properly.” 

“Man, I gotta give that a try,” Harry stretched, and walked closer.  “If I can find this place again, that is…” 

               Credence frowned. 

“Oh.  Um, how _did_ you find it?” 

"Got lost,” Harry shrugged.  That, at least, was true enough.  “I swear, this castle is a literal maze – mind if I sit down?” 

               Credence faltered, but then gave a short nod at the floor.  Harry grinned, and plopped down in front of him, his tired feet crying out in gratitude. 

“ _Fuck_ , I’m tired,” he pronounced emphatically, and leaned back against the stone.  The glass was cool against his shoulder as he looked outside – where the sunlight fell, broken, through the torn clouds.  Its pale bands fanned out below, and Harry smiled. 

               The building was designed by a madman, the floor was cold, and he was exhausted, but - 

“I think…  It was worth it, though,” Harry decided, glancing back at Credence.  “You know?” 

“I think so,” Credence said, almost inaudibly.  A little smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Harry beamed back – the widest one he could manage. 

               He tried to let himself relax.  A strangely Malfoy-like voice in the back of his head was listing off countless reasons not to, but Harry didn’t want to listen to it.  Frankly, he didn’t even care that Credence was a potential suspect – that worry flitted past, like a bad dream, and faded in front of his raging compulsion to be friends with the wall-dwelling owner of a fucked-up, creepy castle. 

               He couldn’t explain it.  He just knew that this was the thing to do, as if he was dosed with a bucket of Felix Felicis.  He wanted to be friends with Credence. 

“Mr. Potter?..” 

               Harry snapped out of his daze, his head whipping around. 

“Wha – ?” 

               Credence shrank back a little. 

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to, uh – ” 

“It’s alright,” Harry said quickly.  “Sorry, I just zoned out – I do that all the time, I think most of my friends gave up by now…  What is it?” 

               He gave an encouraging grin while Credence chewed on his lip. 

“I just…  I meant to apologize,” he said finally.  His voice was quiet.  “For the – the disturbances.  I know this was supposed to be a vacation for you – ” 

“Credence, it’s fine!” Harry interjected, sitting up a little.  “You – you really don’t have to apologize.  Really.  If anything, it’s even more fun this way.” 

               Credence glanced at him with confusion. 

"What?..” 

               Harry grinned. 

“Well, it’s like we’re actually living in a haunted castle, isn’t it?  Part of the attraction.” 

"If – if you say so.  But I swear, I don’t know what’s going on – ” 

"Me neither,” Harry shrugged.  “But like, short of a Ouija board, I don’t really have any ideas, so whatever.  Let the dead lie.  Or walk around, that’s fine too, I guess.” 

               Credence blinked. 

“Okay,” he conceded, and let the side of his head rest on the glass again.  A small smile appeared on his lips, as his body relaxed – it was barely noticeable, but there. 

               Harry couldn’t help but smile back. 

“D’you think there’s any actual ghostbusters in Scotland?..” he asked, nudging Credence’s foot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t bring them in,” Credence said seriously.  “They – uh, they’d do too much damage.  Dr. Bai would be livid.” 

               Harry nodded. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.  “Dr. Bai must be appeased at all costs.” 

               She was rather terrifying, Harry thought, in the same way that strict, yet beloved teachers often are.  He couldn’t imagine having her for a mother – it would be like being raised by Professor McGonagall.  Then again, he sort of was.  She was even invited to Ron and Hermione’s wedding. 

               Mrs. Weasley spent three weeks sending out invitations to that – as it turned out, the planning was a nightmare even when all the magic in the world was there to help.  Of course, Harry knew already that magic on its own would never get you far - 

“You know, I think this castle is actually magic,” Harry said thoughtfully.  “When I was poking around, I’d swear the hallways switched places a dozen times.” 

“Hm.” 

"Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that painting of the old lady – you know, the one on the fourth floor?..  I’m pretty sure it was just – following me with its eyes.” 

“Lady Verity Barebone,” Credence nodded.  “She lived here almost a hundred years ago.” 

“Or is she still around?..” Harry intoned with an attempt at a creepy eye glint, and laughed.  “Anyway, the castle is magic, and that’s not even mentioning the – wait, that’s it.” 

               Credence looked back at him. 

“What is it?..” 

“That thing I was gonna tell you about,” Harry said, almost getting excited in earnest.  “I mean, before the whole fan mission, but then everybody was running around turning them off, and I forgot, and then I couldn’t find you anywhere…” 

“Oh.  I’m – I’m sorry,” Credence said.  “I, uh – I don’t go into the main hallways much, I didn’t know you were looking for me – ” 

“It’s fine,” Harry waved his hand.  “It wasn’t anything urgent.  I just – I wanted to tell you I’ve seen the unicorn too.”   

               Credence blinked at him. 

“That horse is still around, then,” he said.  “You’d think the owners would’ve caught up with it by now – ” 

               Harry shook his head determinedly. 

“It wasn’t a horse,” he said.  “It had a horn, for fuck’s sake.  It was pure white, and it was a unicorn.” 

“A circus – ” 

“A fake horn would’ve fallen off eventually,” Harry argued.  “It was real, I swear.  A real, live unicorn, and I saw it.” 

               There it was, out.  Now all he could do was wait for information.  He crossed his fingers, hoping it wasn’t visible from where his hand rested on the floor – but Credence was silent.  His face shuttered, and his jaw was tight. 

               The niche itself seemed darker, and several moments passed before he spoke again. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly, staring at the floor. 

“What?  Oh.  Uh, I don’t know,” Harry confessed.  “I mean, it’s – ” 

“He can’t go to a zoo,” Credence said abruptly, looking up.  “He can’t, he’s – he’s afraid of people.” 

               Harry gave a confused frown. 

“Well, sure.  I mean, that’s all animals, isn’t it?..” 

“You don’t understand,” Credence interrupted.  His voice shook.  “He was – when I found him, he – his back was covered with scars, and, and open wounds too, from lashes – ” 

               Harry sat up. 

“What?” 

"I – I think he was trafficked,” Credence said, his eyes flickering away again.  “There was still a chain around his neck, it took me a week to cut through – ” 

"Holy shit.” 

               Harry sat back, his mind turning over a thousand different wheels as he stared at Credence, who was breathing shakily. 

“He won’t last in a zoo,” Credence whispered.  “Or anywhere, they’ll – they’ll try to study him, but he can’t go through that – they tortured him, Mr. Potter…  It, it wasn’t enough that they had him, they had to hurt him, too – there were holes in his neck, like they were bleeding him…” 

               He broke off, his eyes bright and rimmed with water.  He swallowed, and rubbed at them with his hand, looking anywhere but at Harry as his shoulders rose again, and he pressed his back into the wall, as if trying to go through it and disappear. 

               Harry looked at him, and wished he never heard about that fucking unicorn. 

               He wished he never asked.  Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this. 

“Credence…  Credence, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “I – I didn’t know…  I promise, I won’t tell anyone.” 

               Credence looked up. 

“You won’t?..” 

“I won’t,” Harry told him.  “I swear.” 

“Oh.” 

               Credence swallowed again, blinking.  His eyes were slightly reddened, but his trembling subsided, and Harry felt a wave of relief wash over them both as they sat together near the glass. 

               It was getting brighter – the clouds by then dispersed almost completely, and a delicate wind was untangling the last shreds of fog that hung in the sky.  The sun was laughing, and Credence was quiet as he stared out of the window, somewhere beyond the blue mountains on the horizon. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Harry raised his eyebrows. 

"For what?” 

“I don’t know,” Credence said, his eyes meeting Harry’s for a fleeting second, and quickly moving away once more.  “This.  Thank you, Mr. Potter.” 

“You can always call me Harry, you know,” Harry offered.  “It’s less formal.” 

               Credence glanced at him. 

“But – ” he started, and trailed off. 

“I’m serious,” Harry grinned.  “I feel like I’m at work when you call me by my last name.” 

               _You are at work_ , the annoying little voice pointed out in his head, but he brushed it off. 

__

“In any case, friends use first names anyway,” he said.  “Except Malfoy, but he’s this whole other story…” 

__

               His train of thought broke off when he noticed that Credence was staring at him, his face a jumble of emotion that Harry couldn’t even begin to untangle. 

__

“What is it?..” Harry asked, suddenly anxious.  Shit, did he say something wrong?.. 

__

               Credence opened his mouth, and closed it again, biting his lips together. 

__

“Hey.  What is it?” 

__

               Harry sat up, edging slightly closer in concern.  Credence looked overwhelmed as his eyes darted over Harry’s face, as if he was trying to memorize it but afraid to look. 

__

“It’s…  It’s nothing,” he said finally.  “Just – what you said.  That we’re friends?..” 

__

"Yeah, so?  We are, aren’t we?..” Harry said, feeling himself at a loss and scrambling to find one useful idea of what to say instead.  “I mean – I – I guess I should’ve asked first – uh, can we just assume I did?” 

__

               He gave Credence a hopeful glance, and Credence blinked back. 

__

“What?..” 

__

               Harry grinned, and leaned back against the wall, finally relaxing. 

__

“Hi,” he said.  “I’m Harry.  Wanna be friends?” 

__

__

               They walked back to the familiar part of the castle together, Credence leading Harry down a web of narrow, twisting, intensely creepy hidden passageways.  Here in the walls, there wasn’t any means of telling time, Harry realized.  It was always dark. 

__

               The light from Credence’s torch glided along the stones in a pale patch, and let the corridor stretch in front of them – its finish line as mysterious as ever.  Theoretically, they were heading to the reception room, where Harry could take the stairs up to his quarters, but somehow, he thought that they could end up anywhere. 

__

               Maybe in his empty, abandoned room, which the Ministry was paying for – or in the library – or at the bottom of the Fairy Gate. 

__

"Uh, Credence?” he began. 

__

              Credence glanced back. 

__

“Yes?..” 

__

“I was wondering if – if I could see the unicorn again,” Harry said softly.  “You – you don’t have to show me, I just…  I guess I want to be sure I hadn’t dreamed it.” 

__

               Credence didn’t reply at first.  In the silence, their footsteps rang clear, echoing off in the closed space, and only interrupted by the sound of water gurgling in the pipes next to them.  Harry wondered where they went, as well. 

__

“You didn’t dream it,” Credence said quietly.  “I’ll – I could show you tomorrow night.  If you want.” 

__

“I’d love to,” Harry said honestly.  This was the best day of his life.  Ever. 

__


	4. Chapter 4

“This place is worse than the Weasley house.” 

               The statement hung in the air, rocked by the persistent hum of the fan, and Harry gave the ceiling a confused frown. 

“Why?” 

               Malfoy grumbled something indistinct and rolled over on his side.  They’d just returned from a hike, cursing their cover – the trail somehow managed to constantly climb upwards, despite looping from and back to the castle, and they were both half-dead by the end of it.  Dripping with sweat, they’d made it to the room, and collapsed right on the floor, turning on the fan as an afterthought. 

               Harry nudged Malfoy’s shoulder. 

“Hey.  Why’s this place so bad?” 

“Just is.” 

“Has to be a reason.” 

“It just is, alright?” Malfoy groaned.  “Everybody either hates me or tries to feed me to death.” 

               Harry laughed quietly to himself. 

“Jacob’s taking that cupcake challenge seriously, is he?” 

“I will die of diabetes by the end of the week,” Malfoy informed him solemnly.  “I’m sure you’ll celebrate.” 

“Right,” Harry snorted.  “Along with whoever it is that hates you here…  Which, by the way, no-one does.   Everybody likes you.” 

“Credence doesn’t,” Malfoy said immediately. 

               Harry frowned. 

“What?  Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said sulkily.  “I think he’s – scared of me or something.” 

“He’s not,” Harry told him.  “That’s just what he’s like.” 

“Not with you,” Malfoy argued, pushing himself up on his elbow.  “Which reminds me – since when does he call you by your first name?” 

“Since yesterday afternoon,” Harry told him.  “We’re friends.” 

               There was a silence, only disturbed by the plastic whirr of the paddles.  Malfoy frowned, studying Harry’s face. 

“That makes no sense,” he said finally.  “You hate people.” 

               Harry laughed. 

“Not him.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I came up to him, and asked if we could be friends,” Harry said.  “So now we are, and he calls me by my first name, because all my friends do – except you, but I’ve no idea why you won’t – ”

“You never asked to be friends.” 

“Well, yeah, because you’re not an insecure shut-in like Credence,” Harry shrugged.  “You know we’re friends anyway…” 

               There was a small silence at that, and Harry paused a little before breaking it. 

“Uh.  Malfoy – you _do_ know that, right?” he asked. 

               Malfoy flopped back on the carpet in response. 

“No,” he said.  “I didn’t.” 

“Yeah, right,” Harry scoffed, turning over on his side to face him – and the grin fell from his face.  Malfoy’s expression was too sombre, and a slight panic bolted through him.  “You – you’re serious?” 

               Malfoy glared at him. 

“Shut up.” 

               Harry stared at him for a while, his thoughts a jumbled mess. 

“But – no, you couldn’t have – why’d you think I drag you around with me all the time?” he asked finally. 

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said, frowning at the ceiling.  “You were bored.  I let you joke about serial killers.” 

“So does Luna!  Look, Malfoy – I’ve literally told you we’re friends like, a million times – ” 

“I thought you were joking,” Malfoy said defensively.  “It – it _sounded_ like you were joking.” 

“I wasn’t,” said Harry dumbly. 

“Well, I didn’t know that!”  Malfoy snapped, and fell silent again. 

               Harry tried to catch his eyes, but Malfoy was refusing to look at him, so he poked his arm.  Malfoy’s face turned away stubbornly, and Harry sighed. 

“You’re impossible,” he told the side of Malfoy’s head. 

               There was no reply, so Harry reached down, until his hand found Malfoy’s.  He smiled, lacing their fingers together, and let his head fall back on the floor to stare at the ceiling.  The rough coating was lined with a web of tiny cracks, and Harry followed them with his eyes, until they all blended together. 

“He’s gonna show me the unicorn tonight,” he told them.  “I’ve – I’ve got a theory about it, but I’m not sure yet…” 

“Hm.” 

“I just hope it won’t rain,” Harry added.  “Because then I’ll have to wait even longer to confirm it.” 

“It won’t rain,” Malfoy told him, his voice painfully blank.  “You’re guaranteed moonlight, unicorns, and romantic rendezvous.” 

               Harry gave his hand a scolding squeeze. 

“It’s not romantic.  We just met,” he said wisely.  “It takes me ages to fall in love.” 

“Whatever.” 

               Malfoy squeezed his hand back, and there was something weightless in Harry’s chest.  He wanted this moment to go on forever.  There was something comforting about being able to enjoy each other’s company – when nothing was really happening.  They were lounging about aimlessly on the floor, and Harry was enjoying every second.  When would Malfoy let something like this happen again?..

               Not in a thousand years, and then he wouldn’t let Harry to get close like this. 

“When do you think the Ministry owl will arrive?” Harry asked pensively. 

               Malfoy snorted. 

“At the most unholy hour, as usual.  It’s a Muggle castle.” 

“I wonder who sends them?..” Harry mused out loud.  “They probably have some poor bloke on duty at two in the morning, just…  Glancing at a watch, like, _five more minutes and I’m sending it…  Just five more minutes…_ ”    

               Malfoy laughed softly. 

“Merlin, don’t.  I’m quite certain owls can pace themselves.” 

“Awesome.  So they can pace themselves, they can find anyone in any part of the world, they’re great with paperwork – why doesn’t Savage hire owls instead?..”  groaned Harry.  “We wouldn’t be dealing with fucking zombies then…” 

“I don’t think she’s a zombie.  Not even an Inferius, actually.  Too alive.” 

“Yeah, yeah.  Doesn’t matter.  Owls could still swarm her and claw her eyes out, they’d have this case under wraps in a day,” Harry insisted. 

               Malfoy cast him an amused look. 

“Fucking Gryffindors.  Seriously, _swarm her and claw her eyes out?_  That’s your best strategy?..” 

“It’s an awesome strategy.  I saw a phoenix do it to a basilisk once.” 

               There was a pause. 

“And what happened then?” 

“I ran it through with a sword,” Harry shrugged.  “The basilisk, not the phoenix.  The phoenix was cool, he healed the hole in my arm.” 

“The hole,” Malfoy repeated. 

“Yeah – from a basilisk fang,” Harry explained.  “You see, phoenix tears – ” 

“I’m aware of their healing properties, Potter.  Shut up.” 

               They lay on the floor silently after that.  Malfoy’s fingers were running gently over Harry’s hand, and it was almost like a caress.  Harry was smiling mutely at the ceiling, and the reddening sky hidden above it.  Maybe this could happen again after all – and fuck, he wanted it to happen. 

               For all the spark in his eyes, Malfoy was always distant.  He let Harry go on and on about things, but would never share his own – except for rare moments when…  Harry wasn’t even sure what.  Maybe Professor Trelawney would know, it probably had something to do with planetary alignments and the kind of tea Malfoy had in the morning.  All Harry knew was that when they happened, those days were more real than anything he’d ever known.  He treasured every single one. 

               He was getting slightly cold on the floor, but couldn’t be bothered to turn the fan off.  He’d get used to it soon enough, anyhow.  This was more important. 

               He did regret putting the fan on the highest setting, though.  That was stupid. 

“How old were you?” Malfoy asked quietly.  “It – it was second year, wasn’t it?..” 

“Yeah,” Harry said.  “I was twelve.” 

               Malfoy’s fingers tightened around his. 

“Merlin.” 

“I guess…” Harry scratched his nose.  It wasn’t as sweaty anymore, which was a plus.  “You know, I keep thinking – I’ll never know if it was…  If I was that tiny, or the snake was really that huge.” 

               Malfoy scoffed. 

“Why past tense?..  You are tiny, Potter.” 

“Shut up,” Harry laughed, turning his head to look at him – and grinning even wider when he realized that there was a smile on Malfoy’s face, as well.  “You only have, like, three inches on me, you git.” 

“The three inches that make all the difference.” 

“Yeah, like you could win a swordfight,” Harry parried.  “With a _basilisk_.” 

“Was the basilisk even carrying a sword?  Because if it didn’t, it’s not a fair fight – ”

“Oh god, shut up,” Harry snorted.  “What are you saying then, you’d fight a sword-wielding basilisk?” 

               Malfoy was silent. 

“No,” he finally admitted.  “I wouldn’t.  Before you ask, I wouldn’t fight a sword-wielding dragon, either.” 

               Harry frowned. 

“Why would you want to fight a dragon?  They’re vastly misunderstood beasts – ” 

“I don’t know,” Malfoy sighed, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling again.  “People do that.  They fight dragons, and all that crap…  Rescue treasure and princesses.  Muggle royals like it, apparently.” 

“Right,” Harry hummed.  “But I think you’d be the one stuck in a tower.” 

               Malfoy scoffed. 

“What, the princess?” 

“Well, a prince.  But in a tower,” Harry clarified. 

“And you’re the one rescuing me, then?” Malfoy sniffed. 

               Harry gave a shrug. 

“I suppose.  You could also get cursed and turn into a frog.” 

“Ew.” 

“Or a ferret,” Harry smirked, and laughed at the glare he got.  “Seriously, it happens all the time in those stories – except then I’d have to kiss you to turn you back – ” 

“You’d get salmonella.” 

“From a ferret?..  Ow!”  he grinned.  “Alright, fine.  Whatever, live kissless.  As a frog.  I’d keep you in a tank at home, or something.  Feed you best-quality moths, you could be friends with Trevor – ” 

“Potter.” 

“What?”

“Shut up,” said Malfoy.  “Just…  Stop talking.  You’re not making any sense.” 

“You love me anyway,” Harry grinned. 

               Malfoy didn’t reply.  Harry waited for a few seconds, but he just kept staring at the ceiling, his pale face pinched and stony.  After a while, his fingers resumed their caressing motion, and Harry relaxed – despite the slight pang of disappointment he felt.  It wasn’t as if he’d _mind_ kissing Malfoy.  Even if he was a frog.  Or a ferret – and anyway, he’d turn back into a human after that.  

               Harry glanced over at Malfoy.  He would make a beautiful prince – and Harry would ride up to the tower on a pitch-black horse, and rescue him from the dragon.  Heroically. 

“Do you think I’d look good in armour?” he asked. 

               Malfoy turned on his side to glower at him. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Armour,” Harry repeated.  “I mean, I know how to handle a sword, and shields are cool, but like, would I look good with the rest of it?..” 

“Stop it.  Merlin,” Malfoy groaned.  

“Seriously though, would I look – ”

“Potter, you look good in anything.  Now shut up.”

               Harry tried to say something else, but Malfoy turned away from him resolutely, and he was left staring at his back, which was still covered with splotches of sweat.  Maybe armour wasn’t that good an idea.  He’d stink under it, and that wasn’t romantic at all.  The prince would probably try to avoid him because of it. 

               Malfoy was still facing away, and Harry hoped he wasn’t avoiding him, too.  He raised his hand, and hesitated a little before letting it rest on Malfoy’s shoulder, which tensed under his touch.  He was about to take it away, when Malfoy rolled over, facing him again.  

“Would you really kiss me if I was a frog?” he asked, frowning. 

               Harry shrugged.    
“Yeah.” 

“Fucking stupid hero,” Malfoy muttered, but his face was softer now, and Harry smiled. 

“You’d make a beautiful frog,” he said. 

“Shut up.” 

               Malfoy’s hand found Harry’s again, and he laced their fingers together.  The sunset burned on the other side of the castle, but their window was facing East – where a dull twilight was taking hold.  Malfoy brushed his thumb over Harry’s hand, and Harry smiled.  He was happy. 

 

***

 

               The sky was dark when Harry hurried down the winding stairs, and to the dimly lit reception room.  He spun around on his heel at the bottom landing, and barely managed to find his balance before charging off down the wide, carpeted corridor that extended into the castle behind it.  It was almost nine. 

“Shit, shit, shit – would it kill me to look at the fucking watch for once?..” he muttered to himself, flipping the heavy lid closed. 

               He barely managed to stuff it in his pocket before braking frantically in the middle of the hallway. 

               Almost immediately, a relief flooded his body.  Credence didn’t seem to be anywhere near, which meant that Harry didn’t embarrass himself completely by falling asleep next to Malfoy on the fucking floor.  All that was left of that situation was the crick in his neck. 

               Harry leaned on the wall, exhaling.  He’d narrowed down the location of the hidden passage to the grim painting of a young, but severe girl – or the tall mirror right next to her.  Knocking revealed empty spaces behind both, and apart from that, Harry didn’t really have many options, other than sitting tight and waiting for the door to be revealed. 

               Except – perhaps he could try to find out.  If the mirror was one-sided…

“Thank Merlin for electricity,” he sighed, and pulled out a small black torch, before frowning.  “Well.  Not _Merlin_.  Somebody else.” 

               He stepped close to the mirror, and clicked the torch on.  Its uniform beam struck the cool glass, highlighting every speck of dust on its reflective surface –

               Which wasn’t reflective anymore.  The light went straight through, into the depths of a stony, dark passage that was hidden behind the mirror – and stopped, resting evenly on something pale and flowing.  There was something standing a few inches away from the door. 

               Harry frowned, sliding the ray of light higher.  It moved, gliding over what seemed to be cloth – once white, but since then muddied and torn – something curled and metallic –

               And then a dead face stared at him with a manic, soulless grin. 

“Argh!” 

               Harry leaped back from the mirror, almost knocking over the rusty suit of armour that stood on the other side of the hall.  What the hell – what the hell was she doing here?..  The same impossible woman from the West Wing.  It was as if she was watching him -- and following silently behind… 

               He stared, panting, into the glass – which now only showed his own widened eyes.  His fingers clenched around his hidden wand.  If she stepped out of the passage right now, he would be ready, he’d take her down!  Or at least try and understand what the fuck she was. 

               Footsteps broke the carpeted silence, slowly distancing themselves from him – or were they moving closer?..  Harry’s hand was tense on the hilt of his wand, and his eyes were fixed on the mirror, when the moody girl’s portrait swung open instead. 

“Harry?..  Are you alright?”  Credence asked worriedly, poking his head out. 

“Y-yeah,” Harry gasped.  “Yeah.  I’m fine, I just, uh – I was dicking around, walked into the suit, generally made a fool of myself.  Everything’s fine.” 

“Oh.  Um, don’t worry about it,” Credence almost smiled.  “At least – at least you didn’t knock it over, like Modesty last week.” 

“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrows, his curiosity peaking despite the leftover shock.  “What’d she do?” 

               Credence shrugged. 

“I think she tried to unscrew the helmet,” he said.  “She was wondering if it would fit her.” 

“Hm.  Great, now I wanna try that,” Harry complained, laughing.  “It’s kinda small, though…” 

“It is,” Credence agreed.  “Um, the passage is right behind here – I’ll hold it open – ”

               He pushed the door wider, and Harry squeezed through, trying very hard not to think of what he saw standing just behind the wall. 

“I’m – I’m sorry it’s so narrow,” Credence said hesitantly.  “There’s another passage behind that mirror, they run parallel for a while…”

“It’s alright,” Harry grinned.  The fucking ghost-thing was obviously going to stay in his brain no matter what, so he decided to have fun anyway.  He was going to see a unicorn.  “Lead the way.” 

 

               They made their way through the hidden passage, which thankfully widened after a few meters.  It looped around the castle a little, and Harry practically gave up trying to memorize all the directions.  Left, left, right, right, right, left – or was that right as well?..  He shook his head, and quickened his pace, following closely after Credence, who seemed to be completely at ease in the tunnels. 

               Harry glanced down at his side.  Credence was carrying a large basket – though what it contained, Harry had no idea.  Probably treats for the unicorn – if it was anything like the Thestrals of the Forbidden Forest, it probably liked caramel apples.  Except Thestrals also ate meat, a lot of it… 

               He would have to ask Luna what unicorns ate – next time he saw her. 

“We’re almost there,” Credence said softly.  “And then it’s just a little path into the forest – not far.” 

“Okay,” Harry nodded.  “Good – ”

               He broke off, because the passage had come to a dead end.  He shifted on his feet anxiously, suddenly wary of anything that could’ve followed them in – the narrow corridor wasn’t the best place for a fight.  Harry gave a nervous chuckle, and tried to convince himself that no dead lady could take him on. 

               Anyhow, Credence wasn’t bothered by their situation in the least.  Setting his torch down on the basket for a moment, he reached up, and felt around – before pressing down on something that clicked quietly within the stones.  He twisted his hand around, and the wall creaked open. 

“You have to be careful now,” he told Harry.  “The door will swing closed behind me, you’ll need to catch it before it locks…” 

“Can do,” Harry nodded. 

“Okay.  I’m going through.” 

               Credence pushed the door wider, and a warm summer night rushed past Harry’s face.  He caught the swiftly closing door with his hand, and stepped outside, letting it fall back into place behind him. 

 

               The night stood clear and bright around them as they quickly descended from the hill, and it was drowning the castle grounds in moonlight.  The moon was almost full, and shone vibrantly in the sky, obscuring any tentative stars. 

               Credence led Harry into the woods, where a barely existing trail wove its way between the trees.   Harry grunted, pushing prickly branches from his face, and trying not to stray from it to the best of his ability.  This would’ve been so much easier in daylight –

               He dug his toes into the ground to avoid colliding with Credence’s back. 

“Is this it?”

“Yes,” Credence confirmed, turning back to face him.  “We – we usually meet in this clearing.  You’ll need to stay here, by the rock – he doesn’t know you…” 

“He’ll be scared,” Harry nodded. 

“Yes.” 

               Harry sighed, and leaned on the large boulder that rose from the ground at the edge of the small clearing.  His body didn’t feel like his own, and he wasn’t sure if he was living this moment for real. 

               It was one of those days. 

“So, what now?..” he asked, stretching.  “We just wait?” 

“I guess so,” Credence said.  “He’ll show up any minute now.” 

               The forest seemed dreamlike, its gnarled shadows cutting through the grass.  Credence stood at the trees’ edge, motionless – he almost seemed like a shadow himself – 

               Harry slapped his arm, where a mosquito was happily siphoning off blood, and glowered at the splotch it left.  That will itch like hell. 

               He wiped the mosquito’s remains on the rough boulder, and tried to relax.  They’re attracted to people with higher heart rates, he told himself.  Be as dead as you can, and they’ll pass by.  They’ll go bite a deer instead, maybe.  He shouldn’t think about mosquitoes. 

               And the night was mesmerizing otherwise – the tall grass shifting in the wind, like silver waves.  This place was magic, and perhaps not sinister at all… 

“He’s here,” Credence said quietly, and Harry looked up. 

               There was a moment before he could even remember why they were there – and then another before he noticed movement on the other side of the clearing. 

               His eyes widened. 

               It was the ugliest unicorn Harry had ever seen.  It ambled clumsily into the clearing, looking odd and awkward – with joints that stuck out every which way, and prominent ribs that made the horse seem almost skeletal.  Chunks of hair were missing from its matted mane, and its thin tail was riddled with burrs.  It was intensely pathetic. 

“Quiet now,” whispered Credence.  “Don’t move – you’ll scare him.” 

               The unicorn lifted its head and let out a forlorn whinny.  It finally moved out of the dappled shadows, and Harry realized with shock that its bony, concave sides were covered with cuts and grazes, which glistened eerily among bald patches. 

“He’s hurt,” Harry blurted, nudging Credence’s arm.  “Look, that’s _blood_ – ” 

               He broke off, unable to tear his eyes away from the unicorn’s uncertain movements. 

“He’s always hurt,” Credence sighed.  His face was sad and pale in the moonlight.  “Here, uh – could you hold this – ”

“What – oh, yeah, of course.” 

               Harry grabbed the heavy basket, and felt a whiff of iodine – it was a first-aid kit –

“Thank you.  I – it won’t take long,” Credence promised.  “Just don’t come too close.  Please.” 

               Harry nodded.  Somehow, he knew that there wasn’t much to say as Credence stepped carefully into the clearing, slowly making his way towards the unicorn.  The horse was standing still, not quite in the centre of it – as if it was ready to make an escape to the rough columns of trees.  Its blood glinted silver as a cloud passed quickly in front of the moon. 

“Hey – it’s me,” Credence said quietly, and the unicorn’s ears pricked up.  “Don’t worry, beauty, it’s just me…” 

               He stepped closer.  The unicorn didn’t move, and he took another step.  Near the dark boulder, Harry didn’t dare to breathe as he watched Credence moving across the grass.  He clutched at the basket’s woven handle, his hands almost trembling with the tension – he had to calm down, this wasn’t even important to the investigation –

               A clear jangling of glass bottles shattered the night, and everything froze. 

               The unicorn’s head jerked up, staring towards the sound.  Credence stood beside it, like a statue of dark stone. 

“Shit,” Harry muttered, and regretted it immediately. 

               The unicorn let out a high-pitched cry, shying away.  It jolted back to the woods, but stumbled – and crashed into the trunk of an old pine, its bark leaving angry scratches on the patch of bare skin on the shoulder.  Braying, the unicorn jerked back – but caught a low-hanging branch with its horn, breaking off shards of wood, which rained down on its head – it cried again –

“Don’t – don’t, stop!  It’s alright, everything’s alright, you’re _safe_ – just follow my voice – ”

               Credence’s voice cut through the chaos of the unicorn’s movements.  Feverishly, it turned its head towards him, and cried out pitifully.  It tried to make its way towards him, but stumbled again –

“No, no – relax – don’t move so fast, it’s alright – just follow my voice,” Credence repeated, softer this time, and the unicorn paused, unmoving.  “I’m right here, okay?..  I’m here…” 

               The unicorn stepped forwards, gingerly.  Its sides were still heaving, but it was listening to him – and walking slowly back into the light. 

“That’s it – you can do this, see?..  Everything’s gonna be alright…” 

               Step by step, it approached – until Credence’s outstretched hand touched its nose. 

               The nostrils flared as they inhaled his scent, and tension seemed to diffuse out of its body.  The unicorn relaxed, and seemed to almost lean into the touch when Credence brushed his fingers against its cheek lightly, stroking it in soft, careful movements.  It nickered quietly, and Credence pressed his forehead against its long face. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured, so quietly Harry could barely hear him.  “You were wonderful, beauty – really – and now I’m here…” 

               The unicorn gave a snort. 

“You’re right.  There’s another one, too, I know you can smell him – but don’t worry about him.  That’s Harry, he’s just gonna sit on that rock over there…  He won’t hurt you, he won’t even touch you, he’ll just stay right there – ”

               These words were slightly louder than the rest, and Harry took them as a cue to clamber up and perch on the rock.  He rested the basket in his lap, and tried to keep as still as he could possibly manage. 

“Now wait – I’ll get the medicine, okay?..  I know you don’t like it, but it helps – you don’t want these cuts to get infected – ”

               Carefully, Credence let go of the unicorn, and stepped back.  It whinnied after him helplessly, but he kept moving towards the rock. 

“I’m right here – I won’t go anywhere, I promise,” he called.  “Right here – I’m right by the rock, I need the basket – Harry, the basket – ”

               Harry handed him the basket quickly, and he turned back. 

“I’m coming back now…  I’m almost there – you can hear the bottles, right?..  Of course you can – and I’m right here, almost beside you – ”

               He set the basket in the grass, brushing his hand against the unicorn’s neck, and crouched down to open the lid.  The unicorn stood still next to him, waiting patiently as he pulled out a bottle of iodine and a wad of cotton. 

“It’s just like always,” Credence said, letting the dark liquid drip soak the cotton ball in his hand before standing up.  “I’m going to disinfect your scrapes – it’s going to sting a little, but it won’t hurt you, you know that…  And Harry’s going to watch, he’s just there on the rock – you’re not afraid of him, are you?..  He’s nice, really…  Just kind of loud sometimes…” 

               He kept talking, his voice tender and soothing, while his hands worked quickly, dabbing the iodine on the scratches.  The unicorn trembled every time the cotton ball made contact, but remained rooted to the spot, only occasionally making plaintive sounds. 

               It trusted Credence completely, Harry realized – trusted, loved, and sought comfort from him, as if he wasn’t human. 

               The unicorn stretched its neck over, and nudged Credence’s head with its nose – ruffling his dark hair with its breath.  It tried to rest its head on his shoulder, and Credence gave a small, breathy laugh. 

               Harry never heard him laugh before – and it was so quiet and unsure that he almost missed it now, too.  But it was there, it was real, and something about it made Harry want to run across the clearing and hug him. 

               He didn’t, if only for the fear of scaring the unicorn again. 

“Shh, that’s it…” Credence was saying.  “Careful, beauty, I don’t want to jab you…  I’m almost done, there’s just this cut on your shoulder – I’m sorry we scared you, it’s my fault…”

               The unicorn exhaled noisily, and nudged his shoulder with its nose.  Credence reached over, and ran the wet cotton over the glistening wound, picking up the blood. 

“It’s deep, you’ll need a bandage…  I’m cutting it right now, see?..  I just need to tape it in place.”

               The unicorn snorted in reply, and he smiled softly, sticking bits of tape to the bare flesh. 

“That’s all – and the iodine is fading already…  It must be your magic – I wish it would heal the cuts instead,” he sighed.  “Would you like to rest now?..  I can sit with you for a while – if you want.” 

               The unicorn seemed to consider this.  After a few moments of a whispering silence, it knelt carefully, and Credence sat down next to it, leaning his back against the unicorn’s side.  The crickets chirped in the tall grasses on the other edge of the clearing, and the moon shone with its melancholy light, drenching the scene in silver. 

               Harry watched, his breath caught in his throat.  He felt guilty at having ever disturbed the peace that they’d found together – he shouldn’t have pried in the first place.  A warm summer wind drifted past, and he knew, somehow, that this was the way everything was meant to be. 

               He sat still, and felt as if a slow, sad melody was singing in his head.  Credence was talking softly, his hands picking at the burrs in the unicorn’s tail, and branches rustled above them.  This was just – right – and Harry smiled. 

               Credence glanced over at him. 

“You can come closer now,” he called.  “I think you have permission.” 

“Oh – thanks, that’s great – ”

               Harry scrambled off the rock, only barely remembering to move slowly as he walked over to them.  He crouched carefully before sitting down, just a few feet away. 

               The unicorn let out another snort, and he grinned. 

“Hey.” 

“That’s Harry,” Credence explained, running his fingers through the torn white mane.  “Don’t worry, he won’t touch you…  Right, Harry?..” 

“I won’t touch you,” Harry promised.  The wind rocked the grass around him in confirmation. 

               The unicorn was quiet.  It seemed to be thinking.  Then it raised its head, the mane falling to the side – and looked at Harry. 

               His breath caught.   _Looked_ wasn’t exactly the word, he supposed – the unicorn _couldn’t_ look, because instead of eyes two dark cavities gaped in its skull.  

“He’s – ”

“Blind.  Yes.” 

“But – how – what happened to him?..” Harry stumbled over his words, shock claiming the meagre remains of his ability to speak.  “His eyes are _gone_ – ”

               Credence sighed, fidgeting with the limp strands of the unicorn’s hair. 

“It’s…  It was the people he was with.  Before.  They did it so that he – he couldn’t escape, I guess.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“He still did, though,” Credence added, before turning to the unicorn again.  “You’re amazing, you know that, right?..” 

               The unicorn nudged his face with its nose, and he smiled softly. 

“Of course you do.  You’re amazing.” 

“It’s amazing how he’s still alive.”    

“Yeah…  He keeps bumping into things, you know,” Credence said sadly.  “That’s how he gets all these scrapes.  I’m – I’m trying to teach him to feel around with his horn first, but he still wants to just rush into everything.” 

“He would.” 

“Yeah.” 

               They were silent then, as the night hummed around them.  It seemed that the unicorn was asleep, for once feeling safe enough to do so.  Credence rested his head on its back, staring mutely at the sky, which was painted over with the thinnest film of clouds.  Some of them were dark, and torn – passing over the moon like living shadows. 

               The world shrunk to the size of the little clearing.  It was safe – it was peaceful – and there was a blind unicorn sleeping just an arm’s reach away. 

“What’s his name?” Harry asked quietly. 

“What?..” Credence started a little, tearing his gaze away from the sky. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Oh,” he gave a little smile, relaxing again.  “It’s Beauty.  His name is Beauty.” 

“Beauty?..” Harry repeated.  “Why?” 

               Credence glanced at him, and reached over to brush Beauty’s mane with his fingers again. 

“Because…  I mean, look at him,” he said softly.

               His voice was warm with fondness, and Harry looked.  He saw a chipped horn, mounted on top of an awkward pile of bones, torn hair, and two empty holes that stared back at him, dead. 

               The wind ruffled Beauty’s long mane, and his coat gleamed in the moonlight.  Credence’s hand was stroking it gently, tracing the patches where the hair had fallen out – from too many accidents.  There was a smile on his face, and for some reason, it made this place and this moment the most important ones under the vast expanse of the night sky. 

“Yes,” Harry said, almost inaudibly.  “He’s beautiful.”

 

               It was well past two in the morning when they finally turned back to the castle.  Harry walked silently next to Credence, having persuaded him to let him carry the basket – apart from the first-aid kit, it contained apples, and a box of sugar cubes. 

               They stepped out of the woods, and onto the rocks of the Fairy Hill.  The castle loomed sinisterly above them as they climbed up, and Harry held the basket tighter.  He really did not want to have to chase scattering apples in the dark, but they couldn’t leave evidence –

“Hey, Credence?..” he started. 

“Yes?”

“I, uh – I just wanted to say thank you.  For showing me.  You didn’t have to, and – ”

“It was nothing,” Credence said quickly.  “I’m – I’m glad I did.” 

               Harry’s chest swelled.  He was irrationally proud of that fact, he knew. 

“Thanks.  I’m glad you did, too.” 

               He quickened his pace, catching up to Credence, who was already waiting for him at the top of the hill.  They were at the foot of the castle wall, and he could only see the windows on the topmost floors above it.  The entire building was asleep, and they were dark –

               Except that there was a yellow, flickering light moving through the windows of the West Wing. 

“Look – do you see that?!” he yelped, grabbing Credence’s arm. 

“What – ?”

               Credence looked up, following Harry’s pointed finger, but the light was already gone. 

“Oh, come on,” Harry groaned.  “It’s gone.  Fucking stupid light.” 

               Credence pulled his arm away. 

“Harry?..  Are you alright?” 

“What – oh, yeah.  I’m fine, just thought I saw this freaky light in the West Wing.  Christ, I need sleep,” he added, in an ambiguous attempt to sound less like a freak himself. 

               Credence frowned. 

“What are you talking about?..  The West Wing’s closed off.  There’s no-one there.” 

“I know,” Harry grunted.  “Hence the _I need sleep_ part, apparently…  You know what, don’t worry about it.   Come on.”

               Credence nodded, and they pushed open the gate to hurry across the open yard, their shoes clunking against the cobblestones.  Credence paused at the top of the front steps, easing the door open carefully – it apparently had a tendency to creak if not held under a very specific angle of tension.  But eventually, the way was free, and they crept into the dark reception room. 

               It was still whirring, as the large fan turned around its axis overhead.  Several more fans hummed at the desk, and the entire castle was chilled through. 

“Dang ghosts,” Harry complained in a grumpy voice of a rickety old man. 

               Credence almost smiled again. 

“This place always had electrical problems,” he said.  “It’s probably just that.  The lights keep flickering, too – I’ve given up trying to fix them.” 

“Huh.  The perks of being a dinosaur.” 

               Or having a life drenched in magic – the kind that rages in conflict with any other energy, the kind that is sheer power with not a shred of control. 

               Like the one in this castle right now.  

               Harry’s hand clenched instinctively around his wand, which was tucked safely from sight in a hidden pocket of his jeans.  Whatever the hell this thing was, it wasn’t going to ruin this night.  It wouldn’t dare, and if it did, he’d blast it to pieces without a second thought. 

               They were standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he was looking up.  And Credence was about to go to his room, alone – walking through the darkness.  He was the most fucking vulnerable person in the house, he didn’t even have magic, Harry couldn’t let him risk like that –

               He did.  He watched Credence walk off into the depths of the castle, and his fingers were tight around his wand.  Then he turned, and ran quickly up the stairs. 

 

               The guest room hallway above them was silent and empty when Harry reached the landing.  He was finally feeling the effects of the strangely long, sectioned day – and yawned, pushing open the door to their room. 

               Malfoy was seated regally on the bed, reclining on the ornate headboard, and the covers were casually thrown over his legs.  The table lamp was on, and it cast a steady sheen on his silk pyjamas. 

“Well, well, well…  Look who finally decided to show his face,” he drawled, marking the page in his book, and setting it on the table. 

“What’re you doing awake?..” Harry slurred sleepily as he pulled off his jacket.  He tossed it on the chair, and it very nearly made it.  “I told you not to wait up – ”

“Pfft.  Since when do I do what you tell me?..  You’re disgusting, by the way,” Malfoy added. 

               He reached for his wand, and flicked it to force the jacket into its rightful place on the door hook. 

“Whaevver,” Harry yawned again, and walked off to the toilet. 

“Hm.  How was your romantic outing?” 

“Not romantic,” Harry called, and squeezed the tube of toothpaste. 

“Are you sure?..” 

“Are you jealous?..” 

“Shut up,” Malfoy grunted, and Harry shrugged.  Sleep rested heavily on his eyelids, and he was not in the mood for their usual bickering anyway.  It was exhausting. 

“As you wish,” he muttered, and spat into the sink. 

               Malfoy was still awake when Harry came back.  The light was still on, and he was staring off into the distance, somewhere past the back wall.  Harry pushed up the blanket and climbed into bed. 

               He knew immediately that this was obviously the best place to be.  Warm and welcoming, oblivion was already drifting in, ready to swallow him whole, and he could feel every muscle in his body relax.  The room went dark around him.  It was bliss. 

“Are you awake?..” 

               He heard the whisper, and had barely enough strength left in him to acknowledge it. 

“Yeah,” he croaked. 

               There was a moment of quiet, and he almost fell asleep, but then the voice spoke again.  

“What was it really like?..  The – the unicorn thing.” 

               It was hesitant and unsure.  Harry frowned, trying to remember who it was in his daze – and then blinked slowly, trying to form an answer, but his mind was already failing. 

“It was…  It was beautiful,” he whispered finally.  That seemed right.  Beautiful…   

“Hm.” 

               A silence fell over the room again.  Harry stared into the darkness beneath his eyelids.  A dark comfort enveloped him from every side, and there was a warm body pressed close to his.  It clung to him like the world was ending, and he smiled. 

“G’night, Draco,” he mumbled, turning over onto his side, and finally letting sleep claim him. 

 

***

 

               Draco couldn’t sleep.  He tried – except Potter was off gallivanting with unicorns, and doing Salazar knows what else – and then Potter was back, so they had to argue… 

               And then Potter called him _Draco_ , and passed out, like it was nothing – leaving Draco confused, slightly terrified, a little angry, and rolling the word over and over in his head. 

               That strange declaration of friendship after the hike had thrown him already.  He’d tried to ignore it for the rest of the day, but found himself reliving it time and time again – because Potter said it so easily.  And Potter’s warm smile, the kind Draco never had, made his heart flutter with hope, like a moth in a half-opened jar. 

               Hope was easily the worst part of it. 

               The mattress dipped a little as Potter shifted next to him in the dark, mumbling something incomprehensible.  Draco turned his head to look at him, and smiled.  Potter looked weird without his glasses, and he slept all curled up in a ball, which made him seem small and harmless. 

               He looked completely vulnerable asleep. 

               Draco felt almost compulsively protective when he saw him like this.  Potter never allowed anyone to realize that he needed to be cared for – but he let Draco see him now, and hold him after a nightmare, and make him tea after a long day. 

               Those moments were the most precious ones Draco ever had. 

“Bppf,” muttered Potter, and shuffled closer, his forehead bumping against Draco’s chest. 

               Draco let his arm fall over Potter’s shoulders.  He couldn’t resist moving closer himself – until they were pressed tightly against each other, and Potter’s arms were wrapped around Draco.  It felt as if Potter needed him, wanted him – and it left an ache in Draco’s throat. 

               He buried his nose in Potter’s shaggy hair, breathing in the scent.  If he closed his eyes and let himself relax, he could pretend it was real.  They were falling asleep in each other’s arms – and in the morning, they’d wake up and bicker about morning breath, before making their way down to the kitchen – their kitchen. 

               Potter would be soft and ruffled from sleep, and Draco would come up to him from behind, and put his arms around him.  Potter would smile – that happy, beautiful smile of his – and twist around a little, reaching up.  He’d plant a small peck of a kiss on the side of Draco’s mouth, so tenderly – his palm would still be curled around that green mug – and then Draco would shift, and catch his lips with his own. 

               They would be warm – and Potter would turn to face Draco completely, they’d be pressed close together, just like they were now –

               Draco opened his eyes, and stared into the darkness. 

               It wasn’t real, he reminded himself.  It was just a stupid daydream, full of feelings that would never exist, and things that would never happen, and it would never be real. 

               He couldn’t go too far with it.  He’d break his own heart before Harry even had a chance. 

               Harry didn’t want it, anyway, so it wasn’t fair to him, either.  He trusted Draco, didn’t he?..  Stupid, stupid, stupid – Draco was betraying that trust every time he looked at him!  He should’ve stayed the fuck away when he had the chance, and let his dumb schoolboy crush pass. 

               He couldn’t do that now.  He needed Harry, he would miss him so much he’d go mad.  He wanted Harry to be around – he wanted Harry to care for him, if only a little –

               Harry did care.  A little.  And that should be enough, that should be more than enough.  It was more than Draco deserved, in any case.  If only he could just stop wanting more… 

               An owl hooted faintly outside.  Draco could feel the rain moving towards the castle, as the room stood cool and dark around them.  Potter was still curled into his chest – he smelled of the forest, and iodine for some reason – and Draco smiled bitterly.  At least he could have this.  Potter needed Draco, and that was better than a Potter who didn’t want to have anything to do with him at all.    

               It was also much more painful. 

“Beautiful…” Potter mumbled in his sleep, smiling against Draco’s collarbone.  “Nghh.” 

               Probably dreaming about unicorns. 

               Draco lay there, tracing nonsensical patterns on Potter’s back.  For such an immensely powerful being, Potter was still unbelievably human – and therefore fragile in his own weird way.  He was always trying to be so strong, but everybody wears out.  Anyone can get tired.  Anybody can be sad, or scared… 

               Draco held him close, and wished to never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how the maiden thing works, and I don't care. Credence is pure enough to attract a unicorn in my book, and I will stand by that.


	5. Chapter 5

               The room was cold and damp when Draco suddenly woke up.  He wasn’t even sure why – they hadn’t set any charms the night before, and the day held no prospects whatsoever.  Outside, a thin haze of water hung in the air like a cobweb.  However, he remained pleasantly warm, despite the chill that wormed its way under the covers – Potter was a living furnace. 

               Draco looked down at his sleeping face, and smiled, fondness prickling its way through his heart.  Potter had been quiet that night – he barely snored, and there was minimal talking.  It was almost weird, but then again, he did seem half-dead when he got back from the forest.  That reckless, beautiful idiot. 

               A loud clang shattered the lazy flow of his thoughts, and he looked up. 

               A wet, irritated-looking owl was perched on the windowsill outside, and was busy clawing through the defensive spells – dissatisfaction evident in its every feather.  Draco groaned.  The spells clanged back pitifully, screeching under the owl’s vicious efforts, which obviously was the reason he was awake and suffering in the first place. 

               Potter stirred beside him, lifting his head. 

“Wha – ?..” 

“Just an owl,” Draco soothed, detaching himself from him with a pang of regret.  “Ugh.  Does it even know how bad this sounds?..  Worse than any Tempus – ”

“You haven’t heard ‘Mione’s,” Potter yawned, his voice still heavy with sleep.  “Iss horrible…  Diwwe put the Muffling Charm on?” 

               Draco poked at the first web of spells, and its center glowed green around the tip of his wand.

“Yes…  Along with at least a hundred other useless things,” he complained, shivering at the gust of moist wind from the valley.  “Merlin, I hate dismantling this shit.” 

“It’s because you’re doing them one by one,” Potter told him, sitting up on the bed.  “You know, you _could_ just break – ”

               Barely glancing over his shoulder, Draco flicked his wand and cast a paralyzing charm on Harry’s fingers. 

“Hey!  What the hell – ” 

“No wandless tricks,” Draco said severely.  “Was once not enough for you?” 

               Harry glared at him, shaking his hand violently. 

“There weren’t any surges tonight,” he grunted. 

               Draco jabbed the window with an angry stroke, and sparks flew.  The ruffled owl behind it gave a judgemental screech. 

“So what?  You don’t know if one’s about to happen!  Just – stay off wandless magic while we’re here, alright?  I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

               Harry snorted, and flopped back on the mattress, reaching for his glasses. 

“ _Fine_.  Mr. McBossy.” 

               Draco smirked, poking at another knot of magic in the windowsill. 

“Seriously?  Modesty could come up with better insults.” 

“Has she tried?”

“She doesn’t need to,” Draco told him, stifling a yawn, and let another layer of spellwork snap free.  “Face it, Harry, you’re hopeless.” 

               There was a brief silence, and then Harry laughed. 

“God, finally.  I thought it’d be years before you used that name.” 

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.  He felt his face begin to burn, and turned away quickly, before it became apparent.  The owl stared at him knowingly, and he glared back.  “You know what, let the owl in yourself.  I’m going to the lavatory.” 

               He pushed himself off the windowsill, and strode back to the cramped toilet.  Harry – _Potter_ – no, Harry – rolled over on the bed, to glance at him as he walked past, and grinned. 

“Even Malfoys need to shit, huh?” 

               Draco made a point of turning around, and giving him an eyeroll.  Harry snickered back. 

“So, which is it?” he asked, getting up, and crossing over to the window. 

“What?” Draco called, picking up his toothbrush. 

               Behind him, he heard the last charms creak, and a heavy fluttering of wings as the owl barged into the room. 

“Number one or number two?” Harry clarified. 

“How crass of you.  And if you must know, it’s my teeth.” 

               There was a small pause, during which he surmised Harry was untying the hefty package from the owl’s leg. 

“Okay.  Whatever you say, Draco.” 

               Draco felt something inside his heart twitch happily at the sound of his name – and then frowned at the mirror with confusion.  Then he blinked, and spat into the sink. 

“You just pictured me shitting teeth, didn’t you.” 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted.  His voice sounded a little embarrassed. 

“You are a disturbed fucking mess,” Draco told him, while his reflection nodded with sympathy.  “How’s old Robards doing?” 

“Desk duty, and bored as fuck, judging by the cat doodle on the map margin,” Harry said.  The owl hooted again, and his voice became nauseatingly sweet.  “Aww, you’re a good owl, you know that?..  D’you want a treat?  Of course you do – ” 

               Draco groaned, and Harry laughed. 

“As if you don’t talk to animals like that.” 

“I don’t,” Draco said.  “The owl isn’t even a baby, and you’re treating it like an idiot…” 

“She’s tired!” Harry protested.  “She flew all the way here from London.  In the rain!” 

“Hm.  And now you’re rubbing your hands all over her feathers,” Draco sighed, walking back into the room. 

               Harry glanced up at him from beside the table. 

“Look, if you’re jealous, I can pet you, too,” he deadpanned, and turned his attention back to the owl. 

               Draco tried to ignore the hopeful leap in his chest, and built his face into a neutral, if somewhat disapproving, expression.  He picked up the opened folder, which Harry pulled out of the envelope, and started leafing through – his mood souring a little. 

“Well, there’s _one_ piece of good news,” he summarized, unfolding the last page into an excruciatingly detailed map of the area.  “Robards’ art skills have certainly improved.” 

“Yeah…  I’m proud of the guy,” Harry decided.  “All that boring paperwork, finally paying off.  Maybe one day, when he retires, he can become an artist instead – ” 

“And paint nothing but cats, all day,” Draco interjected.  “Yes, fascinating.  Does he explain how the fuck those tunnels remain unmapped to this muggy day?” 

               Harry sighed, running his fingers over the owl’s neck.  It gave a satisfied hoot, and cocked its head at an angle which made Draco’s eyes hurt. 

“No,” Harry sighed.  “They must’ve been the Barebones’ best-guarded secret for generations, ever since the castle was built.  They’re not on the Muggle maps, either, and the original plans vanished when Vikings were still a thing.” 

“Oh, perfect.” 

“There is an interesting thing about the surge records, though,” Harry cooed.  Draco wasn’t sure if the tone was meant for him or the owl – who looked very smug, and was beginning to annoy him.  “We didn’t notice it before, but there’s an interval.” 

               Draco looked up at him. 

“You mean they stopped?  Why?” 

“I dunno.  But if you map them all out, instead of analyzing each one on its own – hold on, I have the graph right here…”

               Harry got up from the chair, and moved back to sit on the bed next to Draco.  The owl hooted, and flew over to join them.  Harry’s hand reached out automatically to pet it, while the other laid out the sheet of paper in his lap. 

“See – ” he began, and stopped, moving the graph to center it between them.  “See, this is the total record for the surges, beginning thirteen years ago…” 

“Thirteen,” Draco groaned.  “Why’s it always thirteen?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry said.  “Magical significance or some shit.  Doesn’t matter, point is, they start about thirteen years ago – and they’re going strong now, but in the middle, there’s a gap.  A little less than three years, and then they start again.” 

               Draco raised his eyebrows.    

“That’s…  Really recent.” 

“Just a few months ago.”  

“And from there, they keep growing – for a month, until the spike – ” 

“And then back to normal,” Harry finished.  “If this can even be considered normal – castle at ground zero, a few straying surges at the Fairy Gate and near the forest, and nothing anywhere else.”

               The owl gave a hoot. 

“Okay.  Great.  What’s different in these three years?” Draco frowned. 

“For all we know, nothing,” Harry sighed.  “All the other readings are the same.” 

“So all of this information is technically useless.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Waste of time and paper,” Draco pronounced, and tossed the folder on the covers.  “There’s not enough data – we’ll have to look at the gorge ourselves.” 

“I already – ”

“You’re not the most reliable investigator when it comes to traces,” Draco told him, getting up.  “And this keeps changing anyway.  Go, do your number whatever – ”

“Why, Lord Malfoy,” Harry smirked.  “I believe I’m having a bad influence on you.” 

“A horrible one,” Draco confirmed. 

               The owl seemed to agree. 

 

               The moment they stepped out of the door, Draco’s mood took another plunge, while Harry’s eyes widened. 

               There was a veritable river running down the corridor, and the carpet squelched wetly beneath their feet, darkened by the moisture, which flowed steadily on.  Draco glanced down the hallway – it stood empty and was warmly lit by the small lamps that lined its walls. 

“Nobody there,” Harry commented next to him, lifting his foot with a grimace. 

“Too early,” Draco said.  “That owl woke us up at like, four.  Blehh…  I hate wet socks.” 

“At least nobody’s seen it yet, we can dry it up…  I’ll go find where this is coming from,” Harry volunteered, and splashed up the corridor, to where the showers remained innocently deserted. 

               Draco sighed, and raised his wand with a sweeping movement.  Quickly, the liquid lifted out of the soaked rug, sizzling in the humid air before dissipating.  He smirked with satisfaction, and poked at his feet, feeling a rush of relief when they dried. 

               The flow of water ceased, indicating Harry’s success somewhere at its source.  Draco leaned against the wall, waiting, and cursing the irritating, uncultured case.  It was easier to deal with the fans, but this…  Water snaked its way everywhere, squeezing through walls, shoes, and clothes.  Draco hated it with a passion. 

“They were _all_ on,” a mournful voice cut through his thoughts, and he looked up, almost expecting to see Myrtle floating around the corner. 

               Instead, it was Harry, squelching back with a grim look on his face. 

“All on,” he repeated, shaking his head with frustration.  “Literally everything with a tap – sinks, showers, the tub overflowed, the fucking toilet was busted – ”

“Spare me the details.” 

“What?..  Oh, no, it’s alright – I fixed it, there was just toilet paper jammed inside.  Three rolls of it, if not more – the glob was the size of my head.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Draco decided.  “And most definitely sabotage.” 

“The fan thing all over again,” Harry agreed.  “Like a haunted house deal, but with something more solid.” 

“Poltergeist?” 

“No,” Harry bit at his lip.  “They don’t…  Lurk, or whatever – you’ve seen Peeves.  Way more obvious, loud, in plain sight, throwing stupid shit at your head.” 

“A human, then,” Draco suggested, sliding his wand back into his sleeve.  “Attempting to emulate a poltergeist.” 

“I suppose,” Harry shrugged.  “Though what could be the point of this, I just don’t know.” 

“Whatever it is, it’s becoming rather aggressive…”  

“With all the elements rebelling, or something,” Harry nodded, and Draco frowned.  There was a spark in his brain, and he couldn’t pinpoint its source. 

“Why do you say that?” 

“I dunno.  Just sounds similar – I mean, like the four Greek elements.  There was air, and now the whole castle is probably flooded – which, by the way, we should check – ” 

“Fair,” Draco conceded.  “The kitchen’s probably in a state – and there’s more bathrooms in the North.” 

“The bleak bathrooms of the North,” Harry mused in a theatrical voice, as they turned their steps to the staircase. 

“Bleak, and fucking wet,” Draco grumbled, clearing their way of water, before somebody slipped on the stairs. 

“But beautiful,” Harry sighed dreamily. 

               Draco cast him a look. 

“No, Harry,” he said.  “Nothing can be beautiful when your socks are wet.  Believe me.” 

 

               They soon dealt with the water in the other corridors, tiptoeing carefully past the occupied rooms – where the castle’s other inhabitants still slept soundly, undisturbed by intruding owls.  Explaining the sudden vanishing of a literal flood would be a tiresome task. 

               The taps were on in the kitchen, as well – and the plugged sinks apathetically let their contents spill to the floor, where they pooled together in a small, room-sized lake.  It swirled lazily, lapping at the threshold, and preparing to cross it. 

“They must’ve been on all night,” Draco commented, swishing his wand to mirror Harry’s.  “At least the water didn’t reach the cabinets.” 

“Ugh.  That would’ve been gross,” Harry groaned, reaching into the sink to unplug it.  “Soaked flour, and bread…  Ew.” 

“Again, no details, please,” Draco smirked, pulling open a cabinet door.  “You don’t suppose Jacob and Queenie will miss these muffins too much?” 

               Harry’s face spread into a happy grin. 

“We’re raiding the kitchen?” 

“Exactly,” Draco told him, setting a plate with remaining muffins on the counter.  “We do need to have some fun, don’t we?” 

“Where are we taking this?” Harry asked, sticking his head into the fridge. 

“Library.” 

“Food in the library?..  ‘Mione will have my head when we get back,” Harry laughed. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Draco hummed, and flicked his wand at a few packages that immediately unwrapped themselves, and constructed two neat sandwiches. 

               Harry set a bottle of orange juice next to the plate. 

“Auror my arse.  You’re a criminal at heart,” he told Draco, smiling.  “That’s it…  And we can conjure the cups.” 

“Perfect.  Come along.”  

“You’re really bossy, you know that?” Harry grinned, grabbing the juice, and a small basket of apples. 

“Yes,” Draco said.  “That’s the whole point of me.” 

“No, it’s not,” Harry told him, pushing open the kitchen door.  “You’ve got tons of other points.”

“Have I now.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said seriously.  “You’re very pointy.” 

“Ha-ha.  How exceptionally witty, Potter,” Draco muttered, and headed to the staircase on the other end of the hallway. 

“I didn’t mean – and it’s _Harry_ , alright?..” Harry was pouting as he caught up with him.  “I – I liked it when you called me that.” 

               Draco sighed. 

“Fine.  Harry.” 

               He tried to maintain the frown on his face, he really did – except Harry was smiling, his entire face lighting up with that vivid, living happiness – and not returning it felt like committing the worst crime in their personal history.  Draco couldn’t fight it, and he didn’t really want to, either. 

               Harry’s smile wavered – but then Draco smiled back, and it blossomed even brighter.  They were walking past a small window, and even the heavy clouds outside seemed light, because Harry was smiling. 

 

               The library was silent when they walked through the door.  The sky was grey behind the arched window, and Draco squinted at the dim light – his eyes were beginning to hurt already.

               Suddenly, the room lit up, and he turned around. 

“The switch was behind the door,” Harry said, grinning.  “Here, help me clear these books away – ”

“You are aware magic exists, right?” Draco drawled with a smirk.  He gave his wand a wave, and the books flew from a table, scattering into their original places on the shelves. 

“Yeah, but it’s more fun to do some stuff yourself,” Harry grumbled.  “I thought I’d look around at where all the books came from, and which ones are next to them.  All that.” 

“You can do that later,” Draco shrugged.  “Just Trace the ones from the table.  But I’m starving, and I would really rather – ” 

“Alright,” Harry laughed.  “Here’s the juice.  Make your own cup, you criticized mine to the seven hells last time…” 

“It had _ponies_ on it, Harry.  Pink ones.” 

“So?  It was better than nothing.” 

“I was traumatized!” 

“I saw it in your desk,” Harry pointed out, dividing the muffins evenly between the two plates.  He paused for a moment and sliced the last one in half with his wand.  “You still have it.” 

“As a reminder to never let you conjure anything ever again,” Draco said haughtily. 

               He pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his legs.  The world outside looked even darker now that the lamps were on in the room, and thin strands of pale fog slithered in the valleys.  The mountains jutted out from it, the pines jagged and almost black on their uneven slopes. 

               Draco followed their serrated outline with his eyes as it faded into the clouded horizon.  It seemed unyieldingly remote, and the castle was isolated from everything else in the middle of this wilderness.  It was separate. 

“Hey – d’you want the juice or not?” Harry’s impatient voice butted in. 

“Yes.  Give me a moment.” 

               Draco pulled out his wand, and drew himself a delicate cup. 

“Gilded rim,” Harry nodded appreciatively, and passed him the bottle.  “Yeah, you’re a show-off.” 

               He edged his chair into a more comfortable position, and attacked the sandwich with the ferocity of a starved hippogriff.  Draco nibbled at his food, his mind still elsewhere. 

“You mentioned a theory…  About the unicorn,” he began slowly.  “You never said what it was.” 

               Harry looked up from his plate. 

“Oh.  That.” 

               Draco raised his eyebrows at the sudden drop in his tone. 

“Were you right?”

“I – ” 

               Harry broke off, and Draco could only wait for him to speak again, breaking off bits of crust from his muffin. The fog whispered outside as Harry stared at his mutilated sandwich, his face gloomy, and his jaw tight.  His eyebrows pronounced inner conflict. 

“Yes, I was right,” he admitted eventually.  “It was…  Remember that case we took over from Dawlish last fall – the illegal potions ring?” 

“Of course – oh.” 

               A crate of bricks dropped into Draco’s stomach with his next swallow. 

“Merlin.” 

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed dully.  “It was one of theirs – the lashes, those holes in the neck, eyes carved out.  Everything by the book.” 

               Draco stared at him, attempting to say something – and failing. 

“I – I thought those unicorns were all dead,” he said finally.  “Even the Creatures Department only managed to save two, and they had like, three Scamanders working on them – ”

“This one escaped, apparently,” Harry sighed.  “Must’ve been before our raid, or even during the entire show-down, I’ve no idea how…  In any case, he’s here.  Credence’s been looking after him.” 

“How is he?” Draco asked impulsively.  “The unicorn, I mean.” 

               Harry shrugged. 

“Alright,” he said.  “Alive.  Mostly happy – kinda scraped up.  Apparently, he keeps walking into trees and shit, but he’s getting better.” 

“It’s unbelievable that he survived.” 

“That’s what I said, as well,” Harry gave a crooked smile.  “But that’s Beauty.” 

“Beauty?” Draco repeated. 

“Yeah.  That’s his name.”

“Can’t be much beauty left after all that.” 

“There’s enough for Credence, I guess,” Harry said, poking at his muffin.  “He’s the one who named him.” 

“Hm.  The Statute of Secrecy’s gone to shreds in this place, it seems,” Draco commented, taking a sip of juice.  It prickled lightly at his cheeks – just what he needed.  “We should probably let our guys from the Magical Creatures – ” 

“No.” 

               Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“What?” 

“We can’t do that,” said Harry. 

“Why not?” 

“Because – they’re, they’re too attached already.  They’ll miss each other – ” 

“Obliviation charms are standard procedure – ”

“No,” Harry insisted stubbornly.  “I can’t.  You – you didn’t see them.  Draco, he – Credence – he laughed with that unicorn!  When have you seen him happy?  Like, really happy?” 

“I suppose – ” 

               But Harry kept talking. 

“We’ve been here for days and I’ve only seen him relax like, twice.  He barely smiles.  And Beauty – he’s blind, for fuck’s sake, he’s traumatized and he looks like a fucking zombie, but he’s – he’s happy here!  And so’s Credence!  It’s – it’s too much to destroy.  I couldn’t – I can’t do that to him.” 

“Harry – ” 

“I can’t do that to him,” Harry repeated sullenly. 

               His eyes were slowly burning a hole in the tabletop, and Draco waved his wand over it quickly to wipe away the scorched stain. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, and Harry’s gaze finally met his again.  “It’s alright.  Nobody will know.” 

               Harry frowned. 

“Really?” 

               His hand was clenched on the table, its knuckles sharp, and Draco brushed his fingers over it gently. 

“Yes.  We’re here to deal with the surges.  Everything else is overtime anyway.” 

               Harry’s teeth worried at his lip. 

“But what about – won’t Savage want to know what happened to – ” 

“We’ll just leave it out of the report, attribute Credence’s traces to something else,” Draco told him.  “I mean, it won’t even be difficult – he practically lives in the secret passages, and they’re all covered with that residue.  And the Ministry won’t investigate further, not in this middle of nowhere…  What is it?” 

               He suddenly realized that Harry was looking at him with a strange, oddly vulnerable expression. 

“What?” he asked again, growing uncomfortable.  Did he say too much?..  Did that sound – shit, he was still holding Harry’s hand, how stupid could he –

“Did you know that I love you?” Harry demanded. 

               Draco blinked.  His brain took a moment to process, and then he looked away hastily.  His cheeks were burning, and his mind was screaming with elation.   

“Of course,” he drawled casually instead.  “Everybody knows that you can’t live without me.” 

               Harry laughed, tension gone from his face, and his voice easy and light once more. 

“I suppose I can’t,” he said softly, and smiled. 

               It was warm, and real, so much so that the wet, frigid morning outside didn’t matter anymore – and Draco found himself smiling back.  They were so close, he could see the little spots on Harry’s nose –

“Are you gonna kiss now?”

“Agh!” 

               A little shrill voice broke the moment’s spell.  Harry jumped with a yelp, and Draco started, jerking his hand away and pulling back, as far as his chair would let him. 

“Jesus fu – frick,” Harry exclaimed, barely stopping himself in time.  He steadied his conjured mug with a frenzied movement of his hand, and turned around.  “Modesty!” 

“Hi,” Modesty said, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“Good morning,” Draco nodded.  Children’s unparalleled ability to happily wake up in such ungodly hours of the morning never ceased to amaze him. 

“It’s not _good_ ,” Modesty said.  “It’s raining, and I’m bored.” 

               Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“Didn’t you have that book Credence gave you?..” 

“I finished it,” Modesty told him with a rocky mixture of pride and regret.  She was hugging the book to her chest.  “Last night.  There was a whole chapter about witch hunts.” 

               Harry, who was about to take another sip of his juice, gave up and set it down on the table. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Modesty nodded excitedly, her face lighting up.  “People thought witches can breathe underwater, but that was stupid.  They didn’t invent _aqualungs_ yet.” 

“And it’s not as if they can grow gills, is it, Harry?” Draco added with a grin. 

               Harry glared. 

“No, it’s not,” he said. 

“You’d have to breathe through your neck – or your cheeks,” Modesty frowned, studying his face.  “When people kiss, where do their noses go?” 

               Harry was visibly thanking every known deity that he wasn’t holding his mug.  Draco suppressed a smirk.

“Er,” Harry said nervously.  “Sideways?..” 

               Modesty cocked her head like a bird, looking at him. 

“That’s weird,” she finally said.  “Which way sideways?” 

“Whichever’s comfortable – ”

“Or, if you’re a ghost, it can just go through the other person’s face,” Draco offered.  “They have it easy.  Lucky dead jerks.” 

“How do you know that – you know what, I don’t even want to know how,” Harry sighed. 

               Draco laughed. 

“Oh, it was fourth year.  I caught – ” 

“Stoooop,” Harry groaned, letting his face drop down on the table. 

“…  two Headless Hunters making out,” Draco finished triumphantly. 

               Harry looked up. 

“Huh.  Okay, that wasn’t so bad,” he decided with a light tone of surprise. 

“And you expected what?..  I’m the wrong person to ask for gossip,” Draco scoffed.  “Try Goyle.  He knows the real juicy bits.” 

“Great, now I’ll never be able to talk to him again,” Harry grunted.  “Hey!” 

               Modesty broke off the top from his muffin, and grinned unapologetically. 

“How are they making out if they’re headless?” she asked. 

“They still have their heads,” Draco explained.  “They are merely separated from the body.” 

“O-oh,” she nodded wisely.  “Cool.” 

               She stuffed the muffin top entirely in her mouth, and skipped away to the shelves.  Draco looked after her, smiling – he barely could remember being so carefree.  She was overly curious, utterly brazen, and indeed rather morbid, as Harry kept insisting, but Draco supposed that was normal. 

               Harry wasn’t much different, and Draco liked him well enough.  He liked him too much, actually – and it had to be fucking obvious, if even Modesty knew…

               Then again, she could’ve simply misinterpreted the conversation.  Draco had thought – for a short, glowing moment – that Harry was going to kiss him, too. 

“Do you think she heard all of it?”

“Of our conversation?” Draco clarified, snapping out of his thought process. 

“Yeah.  I mean, we were talking about the case – ” 

“Which she thinks is a game,” Draco reminded him, sipping his juice.  “Quit worrying so much.” 

“Some game,” Harry groaned, falling back in his chair.  “A fucking nightmare is what it is.” 

“That…  That is also true,” Draco conceded. 

               Harry munched on his muffin stump pensively, while Modesty popped in and out of sight between the bookshelves.  He swallowed, and began picking up the crumbs from his plate. 

“You know what would make it easier?..” he mused.  “If we could figure out how the fuck this is supposed to make sense.  It’s a mess.” 

“Wasn’t that the point?” Draco shrugged.  “The surges are random.  They’re not supposed to make sense.” 

               Harry gesticulated vaguely as he struggled to swallow half of his second muffin in one go. 

“Not – not exactly,” he choked out the moment it went down.  “The location’s still centered on the castle, so there has to be a connection – ” 

“So, whatever’s causing them is at the castle,” Draco interrupted.  “We still don’t know what triggers them.  Could be anything, could be nothing.  We don’t have enough information to pinpoint it, the least we can do is find the source.” 

“And then there’s all the fakey poltergeist shit,” Harry nodded.  “Yeah, we’re getting nowhere with this.” 

“Even the location’s vague.” 

“We could try Tracing Charms.” 

               Draco shook his head. 

“It’s too chaotic.  All that power, completely uncontrolled – they’d corrode.” 

“Great.  That’s another idea in the bin,” Harry chuckled tiredly.  “And on top of that, it’s raining again…  Fucking rebellion of the elements.” 

               Draco sat up, suddenly alert. 

“What did you say?” 

               Harry stared at him, confused. 

“Er,” he said.  “I was complaining about the weather?..” 

               Draco waved him off. 

“No, not that.  The other thing – about the elements.  Same thing you said earlier.” 

“The rebellion of the elements?..” Harry repeated, raising his eyebrows quizzically.  “That was just me being a drama – ” 

“It’s the phrasing,” Draco muttered.  “The words, they’re familiar…  Ugh.” 

               Modesty’s little voice tiptoed over from somewhere in the library’s depths – she was chanting a rhyme, and it skipped along with her, from one end of the room to another.  Harry squirmed, and Draco chuckled, taking a bite off his muffin. 

“Harry.  Seriously?” 

“Yes,” Harry asserted. 

“She’s a _child_ ,” Draco explained kindly. 

“A fucking creepy child,” Harry insisted, his face growing distressed.  “Just listen to what’s she’s saying!” 

               Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“ _My momma, your momma, gonna catch a witch…_ ” chanted Modesty’s voice, and he smiled. 

“It’s from the book,” he said.  “It’s not like she’s actually going to organize a witch hunt.” 

“You don’t know that,” Harry said petulantly. 

“Yes, I do,” Draco sighed.  “She thinks they were stupid, and in any case, she loves magic – ” 

“ _My momma, your momma, witches gonna die!_ ” Modesty’s voice drifted from behind the shelves, and he groaned at Harry’s pointed look. 

“Harry – ” 

“Look, Draco, this is just – it’s stressing me out, okay?” Harry sighed.  “I know she’s not serious about witch hunts.  It still sounds like she’s preaching bloody hellfire.” 

“ _Witch number three, gonna watch her burn_ – ” Modesty chanted, and Draco blinked. 

“Okay,” he conceded.  “I see your point.” 

“Thanks.” 

               Draco chewed on his muffin resignedly as he watched Harry leaning back in his chair.  Harry’s face was set in determination to block out the nursery rhyme – who the fuck would even teach their children a rhyme like that?.. 

               The Barebone family, that’s who. There was something distressingly Puritan about them. 

“ _My momma, your momma_ – ” 

“I think – I think it was something I read with her the other day,” Draco said slowly.  “In that book – _The Barebone History_.  The same one with the witch hunt fixation – ” 

               Harry gave him a slightly disoriented look. 

“What, that thing you were trying to remember?” 

               Draco nodded, his mind swirling in a muddle for that short, dumbfounded moment.  Something creaked in a nearby hallway, and Modesty’s shoes were tapping quickly along the bare library floor. 

“ _Witch number one, drown in a river_ – ” 

“Modesty!” Draco called, finally managing to find his voice in the excitement.  

“Yeah?” 

               He craned his neck in a fruitless attempt to locate her. 

“Do you still have that book with you?” 

“What?..” she called back, sticking her head out from behind a shelf. 

“Do you still have the book – the one with the history of the castle?” 

               She grinned. 

“Yeah!” 

“Could you bring it here?  I need to show Harry – ” 

“You can’t have it when there’s food on the table,” Modesty told him primly, disappearing once more. 

               Harry glanced up, and flicked his wand, vanishing all evidence of their breakfast, including the unfinished muffin in Draco’s hand. 

“What food?” he asked innocently.  His face was wearing a shit-eating grin. 

               Modesty’s little figure reappeared, and she gaped at the table. 

“How did you do that?!”

“Magic,” Draco said curtly, directing a glower at Harry.  He’d been working on that muffin, it was obvious – “Now, can we have the book?” 

               Modesty gave him a suspicious stare, but nodded nevertheless, diving into bookshelf labyrinth once again.  She re-emerged second later, bearing the same thick, dark volume she’d been carrying before. 

“Don’t spill anything on it,” she said sternly. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco promised solemnly. 

               She nodded, and flounced away – gracefully, like the ghost of a murdered ballerina.  Harry scooted his chair over, and Draco flipped open the book. 

               Tiny particles of dust rose from its binding when the back cover hit the table, and he wrinkled his nose.  Blinking violently several times, he waved the cloud away with his wand, and began leafing through the pages – until he was struck with unmistakeable familiarity. 

               Draco’s chest clenched with epiphany. 

“There it is,” he said evenly, and pushed the volume to center between himself and Harry.  “The Barebone Ghast.” 

               Harry’s eyes widened, and he leaned in to peer at the minute text. 

“The changeling story?” 

               Draco nodded. 

“The very same.  Been here all this time, right under our noses.” 

“Huh.  Well, this is weird,” Harry pronounced, frowning.    

“What is?” 

“The description of the haunting – and the witchcraft.  It’s…  It’s too detailed for an old legend.  You’d think these were DIY instructions.” 

“Yes, but you’re missing the important part,” Draco told him, running his finger down the columns of words.  “Here, see?” 

“Where?” Harry’s eyes scanned the page. 

“Here,” Draco tapped his nail on the paper.  “Right here – _and nature itself shall revolt, and all the elements will rebel against the changeling, the abomination_ – ” 

“…   _and so, air and water must lay siege to the castle, and earth and fire seek out the usurper_ …  Wow.  That’s pretty intense,” Harry whistled. 

“And what’s more, it fits the weird sabotage issue,” Draco said, underlining the paragraph meaningfully with the tip of his finger.  “Air and water, that would be the fans and the flooding…” 

“Implying that the earth and fire are nigh?” 

“I believe so.” 

               Harry sat back. 

“Okay.  That – that makes sense.  Except…” he paused, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“What?” 

“It’s just – that’s not how a haunting works!  Or a curse.” 

“I know,” Draco sighed.  Here was a heavy feeling in his stomach.  “It’s not, and I think that’s the whole point.” 

               Harry looked up at him, comprehension dawning in his eyes. 

“Magic has nothing to do with this at all,” he said slowly.  “It’s – somebody is trying to re-enact the legend.” 

 

***

 

               The hill was steep and rocky, and Harry grinned at the gusts of cold as he ran to its summit.  The rain left the cliffs wet and slippery, but his feet carried him easily forwards, leaping over abrasions full of water, and climbing on – and he felt liberated. 

“Hurry up!” he called, turning around as his trainers squeaked to a halt at the top.  “What if it starts raining again?” 

“I still don’t understand why we had to go right now,” Draco huffed, still a few paces behind him.  He reached the top and bent over, breathing heavily.  “Or why you had to sprint up here.” 

“Cause I felt like it,” Harry shrugged.  “You didn’t have to run after me.” 

“Yes, I had to.  Idiot.” 

               Harry frowned. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Whatever,” Draco waved a dismissive hand, and straightened up.  “You’re still an arse for making us do this on two hours of sleep.” 

“It’s not _two_ ,” Harry protested, balancing with his arms as they headed down on the other side of the hill.  “We had the Sleep-Stretching Spell in place!  It was at least – ” 

“Six?..  Oh yes, that changes everything,” Draco scoffed.  “You do know an average adult is recommended – ” 

“Shut up,” Harry groaned, almost laughing at the scandalized expression on Draco’s face.  “Just, I dunno.  Relax.  Enjoy the weather.” 

               A stunned silence was his reply. 

“Enjoy.  The weather.” 

“Yeah?..” 

“Harry!  It’s freezing, and it just rained!” 

“Exactly,” Harry grinned.  “The smell is awesome.” 

               Draco threw his hands up to the shrouded skies.  He kept them there for a while, as if waiting for celestial revelation, and then dropped them back to swing by his sides. 

“I give up,” he sighed.  “You’re impossible.” 

               They hiked on, the ridge standing like a wall above the wind-swept valley.  It was chipped and uneven, like a blind unicorn’s horn, and torn, heavy clouds hung ominously above it.  Somehow, Harry thought that their entire case could be summed up by the sense of isolation that reigned those rocks – it was so powerful that the rest of the world didn’t seem real anymore. 

               He placed his feet carefully in front of one another as they descended further, to where the ground grew suddenly flat.  A sheer plateau stretched in front of them, circled by towering boulders, and crumbling stone, and then it stopped abruptly, dropping almost vertically into nothing. 

               That was the Fairy Gate – a vicious scar carved into the rocks.  It was so deep Harry could barely see the sharp pikes at the bottom, and there were no footholds to speak of on its sides.  The entire gorge seemed designed to keep humanity out. 

“Fairies Only,” he muttered under his breath, and chuckled. 

“Now you’re just not making any sense,” Draco complained behind him.  His voice was whiny. 

“I mean it doesn’t like humans,” Harry explained, and smirked, turning around.  “I bet you I could make it to the edge first.” 

               Draco blinked. 

“Oh, no,” he said.  “No, no way.  It’s not happening – ” 

“Race you!” Harry yelled, and took off, his feet barely touching the ground. 

“Harry!  You – ”

               Harry ran, trying not to laugh at Draco’s dismayed shout behind him.  He couldn’t help it, he just felt so damn alive – life was bubbling inside him, and he had to let its energy out somehow, or he’d go mad.  So he raced forward, a grin on his face –

“ _Harry, stop!_ ” 

               Draco’s panicked voice was his only warning before something jerked at his ankle, and he came tumbling to the ground.  He just managed to bring his hands out to shield his face, and rolled over the wet stone, pebbles biting viciously into his limbs. 

               Harry pushed himself up to sit, and winced, picking at the gravel in his palms.  His chest was still heaving from the sprint, and he could feel his face pulsing. 

“Harry.” 

               Draco’s voice was full of relief, but Harry glared at him anyway. 

“Draco.  Why the fuck?” he queried.  “Because, I mean, ow!” 

               Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. 

“At least you’re alive,” he said angrily.  “How could you just – charge in there like this?!  Or did you think, oh, I’m Harry-fucking-Potter, I’m such a hero I can take this thing on alone and – ” 

“What – ?”

“Because that was fucking stupid!” Draco snarled, stomping over to him.  “You’re not bloody invincible, alright?..  Are you just completely mad or are you – ” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Harry snapped, cutting off his tirade. 

               Draco stared at him, his sentence still wedged in his mouth. 

“You what?” he demanded finally. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said wearily.  Come to think of it, sitting on the ground for the rest of the day wasn’t such a bad idea.  He was sweaty, and tired –

“You’re not serious.” 

“Dead serious,” Harry told him, and dropped back.  Thankfully, the plateau was very, very flat.  It was actually quite comfortable. 

“Oh.  Well.  I suppose – I’d forgotten you can’t feel it,” Draco said awkwardly.  His hand had gone up to tug at his pale hair. 

               Harry frowned. 

“Feel what?” 

“Magic – fuck, I keep forgetting that,” Draco chuckled weakly.  “I can’t believe you’re not feeling it right now, this place is practically crackling with it, and it’s powerful as hell – ”

               Harry sat up. 

“There’s been a surge?” 

               Draco shook his head. 

“Not exactly,” he said.  “It’s – it’s localized, but not quite active.  Like it’s just sitting there.” 

“Huh.” 

               Harry twisted around, staring at the gorge in front of him.  It seemed quiet – and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t feel a thing from it.  There was wind on his face, and rocks under his arse, and Draco’s Healing Spells erasing the scrapes from his skin – and that was all. 

               He frowned, willing the cliffs to give up something – but they remained silent, as if under arrest.  He tried again, and another time before giving up completely. 

“I don’t get this,” he said.  “Why can’t I feel it?..  If it’s so big and scary, why – ” 

“You’re just fishing for compliments now, aren’t you?” 

“Uh…  No,” Harry told him.  “I honestly don’t understand.” 

               They held a moment’s worth of eye contact duelling, until Draco gave up. 

“It’s because you’re too powerful,” he said reluctantly, and groaned.  “I can’t believe I had to say this…  Are you going to get up or what?” 

               Harry stared at his outstretched hand, trying to come to terms with the fact that his own power apparently drowned out that of an unfathomable magical force.  Then he determinedly put it out of his mind, smiled, and slid his fingers into Draco’s, letting him pull him up. 

“Thanks,” he said lightly.  “Though I swear, your Tripping Charms…  Ouch.” 

“It’s not like I had options,” Draco muttered, stowing his wand away with a guilty look.  “You were a speck on the damn horizon – ” 

“Alright, chill,” Harry said, his tone soothing, and then grinned.  “I forgive you.” 

               Draco gave a sulky sneer. 

“How magnanimous of you…  What do you propose we do now?” 

               Harry scratched his eyebrow, thinking. 

“You said that this energy – it’s dormant now, right?” 

               Draco nodded. 

“As far as I can tell.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, squinting at the gorge.  “So, theoretically…  It wouldn’t be impossible to get closer to the edge?” 

“Quite possible,” Draco shrugged.  “As long as you don’t stampede in, waking the dead – ” 

“Look, I didn’t know it was there, okay?..” Harry groaned.  “What I’m saying is – this might be our chance.  We could try and get a look at the source.” 

               Draco turned his head to face the jagged canyon, studying the rocks with a frown.  A few stray droplets splattered against Harry’s glasses as he waited for a decision, and he almost thought that the rain was returning – but they were soon gone. 

“I suppose…  I suppose this could actually work,” Draco said finally.  “We’ll have to be careful – ” 

“But it’s doable?” Harry asked excitedly. 

“I think so.” 

               Harry grinned.  

“Let’s go, then.” 

               He pulled out his wand, and gave it a few testing flicks.  The air around them immediately lit up with twinkling lights, and he raised his eyebrows. 

“Holy shit.” 

“Finally he sees it,” Draco grumbled, and sidled up to him, setting up a shield around the both of them. 

               Harry put out the lights – they were seriously interfering with the visuals – and made a few cautious steps towards the gaping crack in the ground.  He could see part of its opposite side from where he was – and it plunged deep into the rock, cold and mysterious. 

               Deceptively silent. 

               They moved closer.  A thin, scraggly pine was clinging to the side of the mountain, and it creaked miserably in the wind as it drove the clouds mercilessly across the darkened sky.  It was the only sound that echoed their footsteps – except, Harry realized, there was something moving within the gorge. 

               It went quiet again, and he sighed with relief.  He wasn’t sure if magical surges could roll over on their side in their sleep – but it felt like they were creeping up on a terrible, sleeping beast.  They were about to poke it in its fucking eye. 

“What – no,” Draco hissed suddenly.  “No, no, this can’t be happening – ” 

               Harry cast him a worried glance. 

“What is it?”

“The – the shield,” Draco’s voice was fearful and outraged at the same time.  “It’s corroding, there’s too much magic – aggressive magic – ” 

“Wait,” Harry stopped.  “What do you mean – is this thing eating through the shield?” 

“Yes – fuck, no, how can this be happening – ”  Draco shook his wand, and cast several more spells, half-screaming at the result.  “Aaggh.  They’re not holding!” 

               Around them, the damaged shield lit up silver – gaping holes growing wider and wider with every second.  Draco’s new layers would dissipate without even making contact – they shriveled and died, and the shield kept on tearing –

               There was something prickling at Harry’s face.  It felt like taking off a sweater – a tentative static, running over every part of his body – foreign and yet oddly familiar. 

“I can feel it.” 

“What?” Draco asked distractedly, shaking his wand.  He lifted it to his face, and peered at it angrily. 

“I can feel the magic,” Harry gasped, and brought his hand in front of his face – it prickled as well, and he laughed with surprise.  “It’s – it fucking tickles, is this what it’s like for you all the time?..” 

“Yes – ” Draco began, and broke off.  His face froze.  “Shit.” 

               Harry frowned. 

“Why?” 

“You’re too powerful to notice residue, Harry!”  Draco snapped.  “If you can feel it – ” 

               They shared a horrified glance, and then everything went to hell. 

 

               The plateau shook, and the air roared as something massive and invisible burst out of the snarling maw of the Fairy Gate.  Stone shattered as it charged towards them, and Harry leaped to the side – but the thing whirled around, screeching – its movement only betrayed by flickering air. 

               In the corner of his eye, he could see Draco thrown to the ground, and struggling to get up – only to be batted down again.  Harry scrambled over the upturned rocks, trying to reach him – but the magic was blocking his way.  It thrashed above him, in front of him, darting everywhere he turned –

“Shit – ”

               He almost tripped in a desperate attempt to feint his movement, and barely managed to keep his balance.  For that, he had to pause –

               And the dance was over, because the thing rushed straight at him. 

               In a fleeting second, the world went black.  There was smoke – or storm clouds – they were everywhere, and they ripped through the earth and the air, mad.  Harry could barely see – he couldn’t think – and something was crying out to him through this chaos –

 _Please, please, help me – I’m scared, I can’t do this anymore, please_ –

               It was pain and fear, and pure, excruciating fury – all thrown together in an unstoppable torrent of raw emotion.  It tore through every cell in Harry’s body, and he wanted to scream, and howl, and tear the entire mountain apart, because he felt powerless, despite the sheer force of the magic around him. 

               He couldn’t do anything – he was scared, and angry, and he couldn’t change anything –

 _Help me!.._

               He was trapped.  That’s what all of this came down to, really – he was chained, abandoned, and he was going to die, and nobody cared. 

               He could tear this prison apart, but there was no-one waiting for him outside – so why, why did he still want to be free?!  He would do anything, he would destroy anything, but all he could do was screech and cry, tears clogging up his throat. 

               Tears, and hurt, and helpless, useless rage – that was his entire world.  He hated it, hated it all – even the rocks he was sitting on scratched him wrong, and he wanted to blast them to bits. 

“ _I hate you!_  I hate you – ” he shrieked, and felt the world cracking around him. 

               Harry was screaming – or at least, he thought he was – and he was ripping apart brick and wood and metal with his bare hands. 

_Help me…_

               The wind rustled past, salted with tears, and then it was gone. 

               Suddenly, Harry could feel the air again – it was cool and humid with approaching rain.  He could feel the smooth rock beneath him, and the smell of earth, and it was like heaven. 

“Harry!  Harry – ” 

               He gasped at hearing Draco’s voice – he was lying limp in his arms, he realized with a swooping sense of relief.  His head rested in the crook of Draco’s arm, and he was safe. 

“Harry, can you hear me?..” 

               Draco’s voice was desperate. 

“Yes,” Harry rasped, trying to lift himself up, and the word was shaky.  He was trembling.  He was –

               He almost lunged forward, clinging feverishly to Draco.  His face was wet and sticky with drying tears, and he was coughing with sobs.  Draco’s arms wrapped tenderly around his shoulders, he was rocking him gently back and forth, and it was overwhelming – for some reason, Harry felt like he hadn’t been touched in years, and he couldn’t bear it anymore. 

               He let himself fall apart. 

“Shh.  It’s okay,” Draco whispered, his hand stroking Harry’s hair – so softly, it made Harry want to cry even more.  “You’re not going to die.  You’re the Boy Who Lived, remember?..” 

“Not really,” Harry mumbled.  He sniffled, and tightened his grip around Draco’s waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I hope you liked this! Next chapter to follow as usual, Thursday at about 2 pm. 
> 
> My tumblr - randomcreativitybursts.tumblr.com 
> 
> =)


	6. Chapter 6

               Harry couldn’t bring himself to let go of Draco’s hand.  He was shaken through – torn and drenched with emotions that weren’t his – and he felt horribly, irritatingly fragile.  He could barely remember ever feeling this way.  Not that he didn’t have his own issues, but this… 

               He wasn’t sure how anything could have all that inside and still be alive. 

               Harry tried to loosen his grip on Draco’s fingers – he was pretty sure they’d be blue by the time they got back – and realized that he still couldn’t.  Every fiber in his body rebelled against the notion, he was craving contact so much that he wouldn’t say no to a year-long hug – right there on the mountainside.  It was frankly embarrassing –

               Then again, Draco didn’t seem to mind.  His thumb brushed lightly over Harry’s knuckles as he led them across the ridge, and up towards the castle.  He hadn’t refused any of Harry’s definitely annoying clinging, he hadn’t even scoffed at his neediness, and Harry was infinitely grateful for that. 

               He sighed – slightly louder than he meant to – and Draco glanced over at him. 

“Are you alright?” 

               Harry attempted a weak smile, and was proud to have achieved it. 

“Yeah,” he said, almost honestly.  “I’m just – I guess I’m still processing.” 

               Draco hummed in response, and stepped a little closer to avoid a boulder. 

“What happened?..” he asked quietly.  “When you got run over by that…  Thing?” 

               Harry shrugged. 

“You were there.” 

“All I saw was you thrashing about on the ground,” Draco said, looking resolutely at the path ahead.  “You – you were screaming so much, I thought you were being tortured – ”

               Harry gave a hoarse barking laugh. 

“Not quite.  It was – it hurt, but it was all in my head.  Like a Dementor, except angry, and scared, and all of it together – ” 

               Draco’s fingers tightened. 

“Fucking hell.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry sighed.  “It’s not like it was mine.” 

               Draco looked up sharply. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just, it wasn’t me feeling all of that.  I mean, I was, but – it wasn’t me, it was like I was it, you know?..  Living inside its head.  Feeling what it’s feeling.” 

“Which was – ”

“Fucking intense,” Harry confirmed, and tried to resist the shudder that went through his body at the memory.  “I – I think it was crying, too.” 

               He broke off, his mind trickling with a stream of muddled thoughts.  Draco was silent, as well – he was walking next to Harry, and his presence alone was a constant comfort, or a reassurance – that he wasn’t abandoned, that Draco was still there.  With him. 

               That was the worst part about being that odd living storm.  It was helpless, and terribly lonely – and Harry hoped he would never feel that way again.  Nobody deserved that – it was more desolate than the cliffs around the fucking gorge, because at least there was many of them.  The storm was crushingly, utterly alone… 

“It was – it was like my nightmare,” he said suddenly. 

               Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“All these things – I’ve felt them before.  It was that nightmare I had the other day, remember?..” Harry’s voice grew louder as the realization flooded his brain.  “I was a mess in the morning – just like now, and I dreamt of being a storm, and destroying everything – ” 

“It found you?  In your dream?..” 

“I – I think so,” Harry said nervously.  Come to think of it, the idea was rather disturbing.  Especially given the last times he saw the world from another’s eyes –

               He shook the thought away violently.  This storm was nothing like Voldemort – there was none of that cold, vicious pride – none of the amusement the Dark Lord felt at seeing others hurt.  Harry wasn’t even sure what it was, but he knew one thing.  This mass of pure chaos was more human than Tom Riddle could ever be – it wasn’t heartless –

“It’s begging for help.” 

               Draco’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Harry looked over at him. 

“What?” 

“Well, it’s – you said it was in pain, right?” Draco turned to him, and was talking quickly.  “It was scared, and hurt, and it’s trying to make you feel all the same things – I – I think it’s trying to communicate.” 

               Harry frowned. 

“It seemed fine with just tossing you around – ” 

“It was trying to get to you.  I was in the way,” Draco shrugged.  “I don’t believe it’s quite capable of analytical thought, it just goes after what it wants – ” 

“Which is what?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted.  “But – you were screaming for help.  I thought it was just you at first, but now – do you remember anything specific?” 

               Harry fell silent, trying to recall the details of it all.  It was difficult – after a while, everything he felt so distinctly then was melted down into an incoherent mess, which seemed to have no point to it whatsoever. 

“I – it was…  I think it said something about not being able to do this anymore,” he offered eventually.  “Before you ask, I have no idea what _this_ meant, it was just – running mad.” 

               Draco hummed. 

“Okay.  That’s infuriatingly unhelpful.” 

“Yep.” 

“We still have no idea how it ties in with everything else that’s been going on,” Draco continued grumbling, helping Harry climb down a particularly steep slope of crumbling rock.  “The curse, the sabotage – that makes sense, but we don’t know why anybody would even do something that stupid – ” 

“Tourist attraction?” Harry suggested.  “A haunted castle, Muggles like that kind of thing – ” 

“I imagine they still like comfort, though,” Draco said wryly.  “Ghosts or no ghosts, nobody’s going to pay for a single night in a place with clogged toilets.” 

“Fair,” Harry conceded, grinning – this time for real.  “And what about that freaky lady from the West Wing?  Is that supposed to be the Barebone mumsy?” 

“The ghost one, you mean?” Draco clarified. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “Which, by the way, makes even less sense.  If she’s the Barebone ancestor, why the fuck does she look like the head gardener?  I mean, you’ve seen the picture of Mary What’s-Her-Name – ”

“Mary Lou Barebone.” 

“Yeah, her – there’s no resemblance at all,” Harry pressed on.  “You’d think there would be at least something, about the eyes, or nose or – ” 

“Maybe they’re related.” 

               Harry broke off, confused. 

“What?” 

“It’s an old family.  Very strict and traditional, from what we’ve seen – chances are, some children had been disowned over the centuries, found their own lives someplace else.  Charlotte _could_ be another Barebone – ” 

“Seriously?” Harry asked skeptically.  “ _That’s_ your theory?” 

               Draco shrugged. 

“Listen, if you had a family tree like mine – ” 

“I do have it,” Harry told him.  “On a wall in my house.” 

               Draco stopped, and stared at him for a moment, before resuming his leisurely gait.  The footpath climbed through the grasses, weaving between the trees – they’d entered the forest, which lay between the ridge and the castle. 

“I’d forgotten you live at the old Black place.” 

“Doesn’t look like it, does it?..” Harry grinned.  “I had it renovated.  Kreacher was devastated at first, but I let him keep all of his favourite furniture – he has this one room stuffed full of it, polishes every last chair every Sunday…” 

“Fascinating,” Draco grunted.  “Does this make us related?” 

“Not according to the tapestry,” Harry said.  “My name’s not on there, I’m just the godson.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.  “Kreacher tried to make the tree accept me, but it wouldn’t listen.” 

“Good,” Draco breathed, and Harry cast him a confused look. 

“Why?” 

“I – I don’t know,” Draco said.  “It would be weird.” 

               Harry left it at that.  It _would_ be rather weird to be related to Draco Malfoy – he remembered thinking that it was weird enough that Sirius was.  He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like – awkward dinners with the family at the Manor, probably, and maybe painfully formal Christmas cards, like the ones the Dursleys always got from their cousins. 

               He thought of the last Christmas gift he got from Draco – a dozen Chocolate Frogs, which all had his card in them, and an exquisitely crafted tie pin at the bottom of the box – and smiled, shaking his head.  This, right here, right now – this was better.  So much better. 

“I guess,” he said aloud, and continued walking. 

               He was still holding Draco’s hand. 

 

               The castle stood quiet when they stepped into the courtyard, and Harry almost managed to put the memory of the plateau out of his mind – when a sharp tug on his hand brought his attention back to his surroundings.  Draco had stopped, and a tension rang through his body, like a taut bowstring.  His eyes were fixed in front of him. 

“Why’d you – ” Harry began, and then he saw it himself.

               The heavy front doors were blasted open, and the left half hung dejectedly from its broken hinges, squeaking.  An angry tear ran from the entrance, and up the steps – lined with scattered brick and paving stones, and bursting ruthlessly into the building. 

“What the hell,” Draco muttered, and Harry nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. 

“Okay,” he said.  “Alright.  Uh.” 

“How very articulate.” 

“It’s not like you’ve got anything better,” Harry parried, and pulled out his wand.  “Is this thing in the castle, then?..” 

“I don’t know,” Draco said defensively, flicking his wand at the doors.  “If it is, why’s the building still standing?” 

               Harry poked the doorknob carefully with the tip of his wand.  It sparked, and he sighed. 

“You got me.” 

“Residue everywhere,” Draco commented, squeezing through the narrow crack between the hanging door and the wall.  “It’s downright insulting.” 

               Harry chuckled. 

“Riight.  It tickles for you, doesn’t it?..” 

“Shut up,” Draco grunted. 

“God, never,” Harry laughed.  He stepped through after him, and his mouth fell open.  “Holy shit.” 

               It seemed that the disarray outside was merely the beginning of it.  The usually immaculate reception room was absolutely trashed – the walls were splattered with dirt and the wallpaper’s shredded remains.  The floor was ravaged, bits and pieces sticking out where the impossible magical storm tore through it – and the receptionist’s desk was split in two. 

“It really went to town in here, didn’t it?..” Draco hummed, and suddenly tensed.  “Oh, for – put your wand away, quickly!  Someone’s coming – ” 

               Footsteps clattered somewhere behind the wall, and Harry barely managed to stow his wand into his sleeve before Credence ran into the room, stopping dead in his tracks. 

“Hey,” Harry said.  He knew it wouldn’t accomplish much, but that was all he could do.  Frankly, he was wondering how they were going to explain this – he really didn’t want to Obliviate Credence –  

               Credence stared past him, taking in the damage.  His face was frozen in shock – or fear – and his lips were beginning to tremble. 

“Hey,” Harry repeated, stepping closer.  “You, uh – you alright?” 

“I’m sorry,” Credence blurted, his eyes darting over to Harry’s – wide and pleading.  “I’m sorry about – about this, I didn’t – ”

“Whoa,” Harry raised his hands placatingly.  “Slow down.  What’re you talking about?” 

“This – the, the mess – I’m sorry, I – ” 

               He slipped on a stray bit of paper and tumbled to the floor with a little squeak.  His hair fluttered limply around his face as he tried to pick himself up, and went down again. 

“I’m – I’m sorry,” he mumbled, choking up, and Harry felt something screaming at him to make this right. 

               He crossed the hall quickly, and knelt next to Credence, who was curling in on himself and tried to shuffle away. 

“Credence,” he said quietly.  “Credence, it’s alright – look at me.” 

               Credence’s eyes flickered to his face, fearful.  They were wet at the corners, and everything inside Harry hitched. 

“It’s alright,” he repeated confidently.  “It’s not your fault.”

               Credence tried to swallow, and choked a little.  His eyes were glued to Harry’s face – they were scared, and pained, and his fingers dug into his arms with borderline hatred, but Harry could see him trembling. 

“I’m – Harry, I’m – ”

“It’s not your fault.  Don’t worry about it.” 

“But – ” 

“It’s not your fault,” Harry told him, and smiled.  “Or if you did go nuts with a sledgehammer, I’m sure you had a reason, and I won’t blame you.” 

               Credence frowned at him. 

“A – a sledgehammer?..” 

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.  “I mean, you’d need a ladder, too – I don’t think you’d be able to reach the ceiling fan on your own, so…  Whatever.  As I said, doesn’t matter.” 

“Oh,” Credence exhaled.  His breathing was slowing, and Harry marked that down as a success.   

               Harry shifted on the floor – his foot, or his entire leg, was beginning to fall asleep, and he winced.  Credence was still crouched beside him, staring at the floor, and his face was still tight, but he wasn’t trembling anymore, and that was all Harry could hope for. 

“You’re – you’re not angry?..” came a tentative question, and he gave a brilliant grin, while his brain screamed in indignation at all the possible reasons behind it. 

               Angry.  Credence was afraid of him being angry –

“Not at all,” Harry said, smiling.  “See, at least now the fan’s not working.  Silver lining.” 

“O-okay.” 

               He didn’t expect to solve what was obviously a deep-rooted issue with a few words.  They weren’t even close enough to do much at all – but this was something, which was better than nothing any day. 

               Credence breathed out again, and looked up. 

“Need a hand getting up?” Harry offered his. 

“What – no, no, it’s alright, I’ll just – ” Credence stumbled, scrambling to his feet, and tried to smooth down his clothes.  “I’m sorry.” 

“S’all fine,” Harry grinned, and stood up after him.  “Who knows, maybe the ghosts like renovations.” 

               Credence cast a nervous glance around them, his eyes lingering on the smashed panelling and the strewn papers. 

“I’ll – I’ll call somebody in to fix this,” he promised.  “It might take a few days…  I’m sorry for the – ”

“Pfft.  Don’t,” Draco interrupted, strolling over to them.  He stepped gracefully over a broken flowerpot, and wrinkled his nose at its spilled contents.  “We’ll fix this.” 

               Credence blinked. 

“What?” 

“Harry and I – we’ll fix this,” Draco informed him.  “It’ll take us a day at most – a few hours, at best.  We’ll be done by dinnertime.” 

“But you’re – ” Credence tried to protest, but Draco cut him off. 

“Guests?..  I know.  Which means we live here, too.  What you need right now is to relax – Harry will take you to your room.” 

               Harry grinned, and tugged on Credence’s sleeve. 

“Come on.  Which way is it?” he asked. 

               Credence looked over at him. 

“You really don’t have to – ” 

“Yeah, he does,” Draco told him seriously.  “If he doesn’t, he’ll spend this entire day beating himself up about it, and _then_ he’ll show up in your room at five in the morning with tea and comfort blankets.” 

“Oh.” 

“Just go along with it for now,” Draco heaved a mournful sigh.  “Save us all the pain.” 

               Credence paused, and then gave a sharp little nod. 

“Okay,” he said, almost inaudibly. 

“Awesome,” Harry declared, before shooting Draco a judgemental look – because seriously, comfort blankets?..  Draco smirked back, and he couldn’t help but smile.  “Let’s go.  You’ll have to show me the way, though, I still have no idea how this place even works…” 

               He pulled Credence cheerfully to the door. 

“It’s – it’s in the North Wing,” Credence said to his toes, following him out.  “On the third floor.” 

“Nice,” Harry said appreciatively.  “The view must be amazing.  What is it?” 

“The garden,” Credence said.  “And – and the mountains.”

“Great,” Harry decided.  “I haven’t seen them from that side yet – not with the garden in front of it all…  Oh, we turn here?..  Oops.”

               Credence nodded, and Harry pushed open the door for him. 

“Huh.  Different carpets.” 

“They’re different in each wing,” Credence said.  “Well, they’re supposed to be.  There’s none in the South – or the West.” 

“Cause no-one lives there?” 

“They’d just be gathering dust,” Credence shrugged. 

“Makes sense,” Harry nodded, and almost walked past the correct hallway again.  “Ha.  Thanks.” 

               They walked in silence for a while, Harry glancing around – warily, and as inconspicuously as he could.  He was trying to feel something magical prickling at his skin.  Something was telling him that if that storm was still in the castle, he’d know where – he felt like he knew it.  He’d be able to tell. 

               But there was nothing.  He smiled bitterly to himself – this was yet another point for his eternal lack of subtlety.  The only time he could detect a magical force of mammoth proportions was when it was actively stampeding him over, and wanted him to notice.  And now…  Now it was gone. 

               Credence pushed open another door, and Harry squinted at the sudden light.  A wide, cavernous hall stood before them – its windows tall and arching. 

“The stairs are right there,” Credence said, crossing over to the centre, where a large, winding staircase climbed up to the faraway ceiling.  “There’s – there’s a lot of them, sorry…” 

“That’s fine,” Harry assured him, and grinned.  “I did come here for the hiking.” 

“Okay.” 

               Stairs were an unbelievably annoying invention, Harry thought, as they climbed higher and higher – and every castle he’d ever been in had an outrageous amount of them.  Even so, he should’ve been able to deal with these more than comfortably – if it wasn’t for the hike he already took earlier.  He huffed, aggressively forcing himself to look at the bright side. 

               At least here, he didn’t have to fight any monsters. 

“Do you think there are any monsters around here?” he asked.

“What?” 

“I mean – there’s Beauty, right?..  And he’s real,” Harry explained.  “So, do you think anything else is?  Like, dragons, or giant talking spiders – ” 

               Credence’s hand glided lightly over the railing as he frowned. 

“How big does the spider have to be to be giant?” he asked finally. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged.  “Like a horse.” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen any,” Credence said.  “There are some large ones in the unlived section – but they’re all normal.” 

“They don’t talk, either, do they?”

“No…”

“Good,” Harry sighed.  “This friend of mine once raised a giant talking spider, straight from an egg – he was, like, thirteen…  And then the spider grew up, and nearly ate me.” 

               Credence glanced over at him. 

“Really?” 

“Eh,” Harry gave a vague gesture, and trailed off.  “You don’t have any of those, so it doesn’t matter.” 

“I suppose.” 

“No weird whispers in the corridors, either, right?” Harry asked.  “Because this other time – I was at school, it was in a castle like this one – there was this monster that lived in the walls, and I was the only one who could hear it…  It talked a lot about killing stuff.” 

               Credence paused a little at the landing, pulling open a heavy door. 

“Where did you go to school?” 

“This weird posh place for weirdos,” Harry sighed.  “So, there isn’t anything like that here, is there?” 

               Credence shook his head. 

“No,” he said.  “Not here.  I’m – I’m pretty sure I’m the only monster in the walls.” 

“You’re not a monster.” 

               Credence didn’t reply – but his back tensed as he kept walking down the dimly lit corridor.  A lamp flickered as they walked past, and Harry frowned at it.  Like everything in this castle, it seemed to know something he didn’t, and it was getting on his nerves. 

               Also, he was violently against the idea of Credence considering himself a monster.  Harry’s blood boiled at the thought.  Why did Credence think that – who the hell told him that?..  Of all people, he didn’t deserve to hear something like this.  And yet it made sense, because he broke down back in the reception hall, he blamed himself for everything –

               Harry would gladly fight whoever was the reason for that. 

               They turned another corner, facing an identical corridor.  The fourth door on the left bore a small polished plaque, and Credence paused in front of it, his hand on the doorknob. 

“That’s it,” he said quietly.  “Thank you for – for walking with me.”    

“That’s your room?” Harry raised his eyebrows.  “Huh.  It looks…  Normal.  The door, I mean.” 

“Is that bad?” 

“What – oh, no.  Not at all,” Harry waved his hand.  “It’s just, I’d expect something grander, you’re master of the house…  You sure you’ll be alright?” 

               Credence nodded. 

“Yes,” he said, and hesitated before speaking again.  His voice was quiet.  “I’m sorry about what happened back there, I – I didn’t mean to just…  Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry smiled.  “I understand.  Really.  And, uh – if you ever need to talk about it – well, you know where to find me.” 

               Credence’s eyes were soft and vulnerable as he turned around to look at Harry. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Harry felt a weight shift inside him – it didn’t quite disappear, but it was as if little bits had been chipped off.  Maybe everything would turn out alright, Harry thought, and gave Credence the widest smile he had.

               Credence almost smiled back. 

 

“How is he?” Draco asked, the moment Harry walked in.  He was leaning on the cracked column, and Harry gave it a wary glance.  The thing looked ready to keel over. 

“Alright,” he said.  “We made it to the room fine – I offered to sit with him for a while, but he said there’s a mess in there and all…” 

“You can’t just barge into somebody’s room, Harry,” Draco scoffed, pushing himself off the column, and strolling over to him.  “There’s a thing called personal space?..” 

               Harry thought for a moment. 

“Okay, point taken,” he sighed.  “Uh – why does this place still look like a bomb went off?” 

               Draco gave him a scandalized look. 

“You don’t expect me to do all the work by myself, do you?”

“It takes one wave, Draco,” Harry groaned.  “One.” 

“All the more fun to share it,” Draco sang, and flashed him a brilliant smile.  “Come on, Harry.  It’s actually better if we take more time to do this – more realistic, and we don’t want to upset the Statute, do we?” 

“The Statute doesn’t fucking exist in this place,” Harry grunted, and pulled out his wand.  “It’s like, one of those liminal spaces Muggles talk about.” 

               Draco frowned, taking his position next to Harry. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

“I’m not sure,” Harry shrugged.  “But apparently, you don’t question anything that happens in a place like that.  It just happens, and you roll with it.” 

“Hm.  That would explain a lot,” Draco admitted.  “So, on three?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed.  “One, two – ” 

               Draco elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Why do you get to count?” he demanded. 

“Because you decided the number,” Harry told him, and raised his wand again.  “One, two, three!” 

               They brought their wands down in identical sweeping movements.  Immediately, the room awoke around them – creaking and groaning as its various components snapped into place.  The floorboards scratched against each other, and squeaked as they were polished to their original smoothness.  Papers rustled and whistled through the air, before binders clipped themselves shut. 

               In one final burst of movement, the wallpaper repaired itself – and then everything was silent once more. 

“Done,” Harry commented.  “Were any other rooms like this?” 

               Draco shook his head. 

“This was the only one,” he said.  “The rest were fine – it’s like this thing went nuts in here, and vanished immediately after that.”

“Great.” 

               Harry put his wand away, and crossed over to the dining room, peeking through the door.  It was silent and empty, and breathed of dignified calm.  He shrugged, and drew back into the reception hall, where Draco was leafing through a large binder.  Something was bugging him, but he couldn’t tell what. 

“Do you think the storm lives in the castle?” he asked, sidling up to Draco, and staring over his shoulder into the visitor log.  Apart from a repair crew that usually puttered about in the South Wing, the only names on it were his and Draco’s. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said pensively.  “Maybe.  You’re thinking of the West Wing, aren’t you?” 

“You said yourself it was full of residue.” 

“It wasn’t just the West Wing,” Draco sighed.  “There’s so much of this stuff around, it’s seeped into the stone – it’s just most evident in places with no regular visitors.  Nothing to brush it away.” 

“Huh.” 

“Wherever there’s people, there’s contamination of evidence,” Draco recited, and flipped the binder shut.  “And this castle is unfortunately populated.” 

“Okay,” Harry nodded.  “Which reminds me – why hasn’t anyone else heard this shit go down?..  There must’ve been enough noise to raise the dead, with that stone fucking column snapped in half – ” 

               Draco frowned. 

“You’ve got a point,” he said.  “That _is_ weird.” 

“And somehow Credence is the only one who noticed.” 

“Shields?” Draco suggested, and shook his head.  “No.  This thing doesn’t think ahead.  There’s something else.” 

“I mean, some of them might have excuses,” Harry mulled over the idea.  “If you were far enough in the garden, the reception might be out of earshot – ” 

“And the repair crew has the day off,” Draco added.  “That still leaves everybody else – Modesty should be right here next to us, sticking her nose into everything…” 

“Unless she’s been Obliviated,” pointed out a beautiful voice, and they whipped around, wands at the ready. 

               Queenie was standing in the doorway, twirling a sleek, dainty wand in her delicate fingers.  She cast them an apologetic smile, and Harry let his aim slacken with a groan. 

“Of course.  You’re a witch,” he stated the obvious.   

“I’m afraid so,” Queenie smiled nervously again.  “And I – I must admit, I was relieved when you two showed up here – thought that this would be the end of it…  I’ve had to Obliviate Dr. Bai again, I don’t believe this can be good for her – ” 

“How many times has this happened before, then?” Draco asked sharply. 

“This is the third,” Queenie said, shrugging.  “I cleaned up the mess the last two times.” 

               Liminal spaces, Harry thought.  This was the only way to possibly explain this.  Credence had a pet unicorn, Modesty was growing steadily obsessed with Potions under Draco’s helpful and illegal guidance, Dr. Bai knew the details of every witch hunt ever, and Queenie was a witch… 

               He groaned mentally, promising himself to never question anything here ever again. 

               Meanwhile, Draco was busy conducting a very professional interrogation.  He was even making notes in a little notebook.    

“The pattern is the same…  Was it always the reception room?”

               Queenie shook her head. 

“There was once in the attic – it’s not really an attic, I suppose.  It’s that big room near the South Wing.” 

“What’s in there?” Harry butted in. 

“Nothing,” she said.  “Nobody ever uses that room…  Mr. Potter, what’s going on?..” 

               Harry opened his mouth, searching frantically for something reassuring to say, but her hand flew to her lips already. 

“Oh, Lord.  You don’t know.” 

“Yeah…  No, we don’t,” Harry confessed. 

“This is such a mess,” Queenie groaned, and brought her hand up to tangle in her golden curls.  “I’ve been hoping it will all just – simmer down – it won’t, will it?” 

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. 

“Of course not,” she sighed. 

               Harry had nothing to add to that, even though he wished he could.   

“You’re a Legilemens,” Draco said abruptly, staring at Queenie with an expression that bordered on fear.  His voice was grim. 

“What?” Harry turned to him, raising his eyebrows. 

“A Legilemens,” he repeated, his face blanking out – until it was nothing more than a neutral mask.  “She’s reading your thoughts.  Right now.” 

“Sorry,” Queenie said, starting to twirl her wand again.  “But in my defense, you’re practically screaming them aloud – ” 

               Harry was beginning to think that this, right now, was the greatest moment of confusion he’d ever experienced since his History of Magic exam in fifth year. 

“Wait – what – okay, this makes no sense,” he stumbled.  “Don’t you have to point your wand at me for this?..  There’s a spell – ” 

“Not for people like Queenie,” Draco sighed.  “Spells be damned.” 

“I just need to be around you,” she admitted.  “Sometimes the same building is enough.” 

               Harry’s brain short-circuited cheerfully as he broke a promise he made to his own betrayed self a few moments ago, and didn’t even look back. 

“Um.  Okay.  So, do you like…  Hear everything everybody in the castle is thinking?..” he asked incredulously.  “At any given moment?”

“Well, it took me some time to get used to the accents,” she smiled. 

“Uhuh.  Great.  That’s awesome.” 

               Harry stowed his wand away, and walked over to the desk, leaning on it in exhaustion.  The world ceased making sense, and the only coherent idea in his brain rotated around the hope that Queenie didn’t hear him thinking about ferret princes that morning.  It wasn’t his fault that a crazed Death Eater once decided to turn Draco into a small, fluffy –

“Mr. Potter?..” Queenie’s voice broke in.  “Um, I can hear you.” 

“Oh, Merlin,” he groaned, and Draco let out a stifled giggle. 

“You found out that there’s a Legilemens in the house, and proceeded to think of the most embarrassing thing you could remember?..  Harry, you’re hopeless.” 

“Draco.” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut up,” Harry grunted.  “Just…  Shut up.” 

               Draco shrugged. 

“As you wish.” 

“If I may…” Queenie began tentatively, and smiled when Harry looked at her.  “I didn’t think it was that embarrassing.  Rather sweet, actually.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said flatly, as his face was starting to burn.  He tried desperately to change the topic.  “Do you, uh, know what the others think?..  Like, do they know that there’s something going on?” 

               She shook her head. 

“The construction people got spooked several times, but they don’t know anything,” she listed.  “I’ve Obliviated Dr. Bai and Modesty every time this happened – ”

“Agh.  I imagine Modesty’s been a handful,” Draco sympathised, and Queenie nodded. 

“She was.  Always so curious, and poking about where she can feel the magic…  It’s been difficult enough to keep her out of the West Wing.”

“Good thing you did,” Harry agreed.  “Nasty place.” 

“Jacob knows, though, right?” Draco asked. 

“Naturally,” Queenie smiled.  “We’ve had our room warded since we got here – though there wasn’t anyone trying to break in back then.” 

“Okay,” Harry sighed.  “So, that’s it?”

               Queenie hesitated. 

“Well,” she said finally.  “There’s Credence.” 

“Credence?” Harry raised his eyebrows.  “What’s wrong with him?” 

“I – I don’t really know,” Queenie admitted.  “I can’t hear him at all.” 

               Draco blinked. 

“He’s an Occlumens?”

“He’s not,” Queenie chewed on her lip pensively.  “Not in the way you are, at least – it’s like there’s a…  Dark fog around his mind.  All his thoughts are obscured.” 

“Huh,” Draco frowned.  “Okay, that’s odd.  Do you have any idea what could cause this?..” 

“None – I mean, it doesn’t seem – it’s just him, I think,” she said, with another little shrug. 

“He’s good at hiding,” Harry blurted abruptly.

               Draco and Queenie gave him confused glances, and his cheeks flared up again. 

“So, what is it then – he’s just so good at hiding that not even a Legilemens can find him?..” Draco smirked.  “A stellar explanation, Harry.  Case solved.” 

“You don’t know what’s going on, either!” 

               Draco opened his mouth to protest, but then the North door flew open with a bang. 

“We need help down in the garden – somebody’s ruined the flowerbeds!” Charlotte cried, bursting into the room.  Adam hurried in after her, his face sweaty.  “They – they’re flooded, completely – ”

“What?” Draco demanded, hastily stowing his wand away.  His voice grew softer as he took in her distraught appearance.  “What happened?” 

               Charlotte froze for a moment, staring at their startled faces, and her entire being seemed to crumble in defeat. 

“The flowerbeds – the special ones,” she said miserably, turning her tearful eyes to Draco.  “It’s all gone…”   

 

               The flowerbeds weren’t simply ruined.  They were drowned, mercilessly and without a second thought, until only the tips of the tall leaves stuck out pitifully above the dirty water.  It moved slowly within the bulky stones that lined the edge, glistening with a murky film of floating soil. 

“Holy – damn,” Harry breathed. 

“It will take ages to drain the water out,” Charlotte sniffled from where she was standing next to Draco.  “And even so, it will probably leak down to the foundations – oh, this is terrible.” 

“I think it seeped through already,” Adam said grimly.  “God, I wish we found this sooner.” 

               He gave the earth a finishing prod with his shovel and straightened up, grunting, as the water ran eagerly down the newly dug drain. 

“It’s good that these are on the hill,” he mused.  “Otherwise all this shit would just stay there – I dunno how we’d get it out then.” 

“I suppose we could lift it out,” Queenie said thoughtfully.  “It would be horrible, though…  At least this was the only damage done.” 

“How’d it even happen?” Harry asked, staring at the running water.  Somehow, the movement of the grey liquid was hypnotic. 

“Hose left on and dumped right in the middle of it,” Adam sighed. 

“Do you have any idea who did it?” 

“A fucking prick,” Adam told him, gesturing angrily at the flowerbed. 

“We didn’t see anything,” Charlotte shook her head.  “We were working in the apple grove – oh, I can’t even look at this!  And these were special ones, too – ”

“Special how?” Draco queried, his eyes breaking sharply through the expression of pure sympathy. 

               Charlotte’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. 

“They were meant to be a birthday gift,” she said softly.  “For Credence – his birthday is next week, and they’re right under his window.” 

               Draco’s gaze glinted, like a knife – but his face remained a neutral mask. 

“How old is he turning?” he asked with feather-light nonchalance. 

“Twenty-one.” 

“Really?..  I assumed he was younger.” 

“He looks that way,” Charlotte sighed.  “I – I just hope I can save _something_ here – ” 

               She sniffled again, and her jaw tightened a little as she watched the steadily decreasing water level reveal the soiled flowers – petals ripped off the ones in the middle by the falling hose. 

“I’m sure you will,” Draco said, his voice almost warm.  “Most of the flowers weren’t damaged, they just stood in the water for a while – it will turn out fine.” 

“Th-thank you,” she smiled weakly, and went off to the toolshed. 

               Harry stared after her, and turned back to Draco and Queenie, motioning to the path that led to the kitchen door.  Draco nodded, and strolled casually towards it.  Queenie hesitated – Harry glimpsed her wand, which she flicked at the flowers, past Adam’s shovel – but then she followed suit, the wand disappearing into her sleeve. 

               Harry smiled, and hurried after them. 

 

“The haunting’s happening at the perfect time, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice, catching up to Draco.  “The story did say that the ghost appears just before the heir’s birthday – ”

“And the hose is just more water,” Draco nodded.  “We didn’t check the garden this morning, that was stupid.  Should’ve paid more attention to the damn legend, nature isn’t exactly inside the castle…” 

“But the changeling legend isn’t real – ” Queenie began, and broke off.  “Oh, I see.  Sabotage, that would explain it.” 

“Uh – there’s no chance that you know who’s behind it, is there?” Harry tried hopefully, and she smiled apologetically. 

“I don’t.  Whoever it is, they’re really good at putting it out of their mind.” 

“A real actor, then,” Draco bit his lip in reluctant appreciation.  “To inhabit a daytime role like this – that takes talent.” 

“Great.  Is there any way we could tell who it is?..  Like, maybe they’d be a little – theatrical, or something – ”

“Theatrical?..” Queenie almost laughed.  “Mr. Potter, that’s almost everybody in this household.  Well, maybe Dr. Bai would be an exception.” 

“Are you sure?” Draco smirked.  “Classy arts and history expert, that’s practically a stage description.” 

“Merlin, Draco.  Don’t even say things like that,” Harry groaned.  “Dr. Bai is not the West Wing creepster.” 

“And neither is Charlotte, apparently,” Draco scoffed.  “But I still think she’s hiding something, so – ” 

               They stopped in front of the heavy kitchen door, and Queenie stepped forward.  She raised her hand, tapping out a clean rhythm – and the door swung open. 

“Honey!  I brought friends!..” Queenie sang, gliding through.  They followed her in, and Harry thought, for the second time, that they had entered heaven. 

               Except this time, the kitchen answered this description in its every corner.  It was alive – every little bit of kitchenware breathed magic.  Spoons danced across the table, dipping into sauce, and leaped across the counters to sprinkle spices into the sizzling pans on the stove.  A knife was busy chopping up an onion at a terrifying speed, and Harry followed its movement with his eyes, mesmerised. 

               A napkin flew past, brushing his cheek, and he couldn’t help but laugh aloud. 

“Ha,” Jacob echoed him from behind a vast silver platter, his moustache curling up with a grin.  “Don’t worry, kid, you get used to it.” 

               He smiled again, brilliantly, and set an exquisitely adorned pastry into the centre of the dish. 

“Yeah,” Harry said weakly.  “I guess.” 

               A can opener hobbled across the tabletop, and he tried to convince himself that he should be used to things like this.  He did help Mrs. Weasley prepare for the Christmas feast every year – except she never trusted magic to just do things for her, not on this scale –

“Everything running smoothly?..” Queenie inquired, striding over to the stove with a business-like gait. 

“Yes, dear…  I’ve been keeping an eye on the system for her,” he explained, for Harry and Draco’s benefit.  “Can’t work this magic stuff myself.” 

               He grunted to get up, and went to get more sprinkles from the cupboard. 

“System?” Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jacob’s eyes lit up as he sat back down.  He smoothed his moustache importantly.  “Queenie’s rigged this whole place to respond to things – runs itself, mostly, but needs supervision.” 

               Harry tore his attention away from what looked like a napkin ballet, and shook his head. 

“You can control it, then?” he asked. 

“Usually,” Jacob snorted.  “It’s like looking after children, mind you.  Last week two knives got in a fight, had to scold them for fifteen minutes after that…  Yeah, I’m talking about you, Taylor!  Keep choppin’.” 

               The knife that was floating above the unfinished onions jerked guiltily and resumed its job.  Harry gave a small chuckle. 

“It has a name?” 

“Of _course_ , it has a name,” Jacob said.  “Everything here does, they’re like kids…  Slash pets.  Or farm animals, I’m not sure which.” 

“You’re not slaves, Leslie,” Queenie sighed, picking up an feisty-looking ladle.  “You get payment.  And days off.  And we fix you if you get into fights like idiots…  Not naming any names, naturally.”

“ _Taylor and Joan!_ ” Jacob coughed, and the thin knife in charge of tomatoes clanged indignantly.  “What?..  You know you were both idiots in that situation.” 

               The knife – presumably, Joan – _shhikked_ gloomily and stabbed a tomato.  A pristine napkin flapped over to mop up the squirted juice. 

“Literal _children_ ,” Jacob commented. 

“Er – if you don’t mind me asking – how do you pay them?  I mean, it’s not like they need money…” Harry trailed off as a leaning tower of dishes floated over to the sink.  A cloth was apparently giving them parking instructions. 

“Magic,” Queenie called over the sizzling carrots, and added a dash of red pepper to the stew next to them.  “Extra little sparks of it, it’s like a treat for them.  They love it.” 

“Uhuh.  Of course,” he laughed nervously, and stepped out of the way of a freshly washed pan. 

               Beside him, Draco performed an awkward sidestep as he did the same. 

“This is an extremely intricate mechanism…  And you’re – you’re sentient, aren’t you?” he asked the pan, which nodded proudly in mid-air.  “Remarkable.  I’ve never seen anything quite like this.” 

               The pan gleamed even brighter at the praise. 

“I mean it,” Draco told it.  “The kitchen at the Manor is still mostly run by elves – though we pay them now – and they never trust kitchenware like this…  I know, it’s silly.  You’re obviously more than capable.” 

               The pan gave a happy twirl, and sailed off to the cupboard. 

“It’s all thanks to Queenie,” Jacob smiled, glancing adoringly in her direction.  “All of this, can you believe it?..” 

“Oh, stop it,” Queenie was blushing, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was the steam or the words.  “You do half the work around here – ” 

“It’s _babysitting_ ,” Jacob insisted.  “You’re the one who created them – she designed the whole thing, can you imagine?  Was up for nights.” 

“And the magic work must’ve been rigorous,” Draco nodded. 

“It took me three days at most,” Queenie said, shaking her head.  “It was nothing, really – ” 

               Draco scoffed. 

“Just because you’re a genius, doesn’t mean your achievements somehow mean less,” he said adamantly.  “Or your hard work.” 

               Queenie’s smile was brilliant. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she finally acknowledged the compliment, and turned back to the carrots, scraping them into the stew.  “I’m glad you like it – oh!  Jacob, there’s a knock coming through – ”

“On it, darling,” Jacob assured her, twisting around in his chair with all the confidence and authority of a naval officer ordering the release of torpedoes. 

               He caught a polished aluminum pan as it zoomed past, and poked the bottom, gazing into it, like a round mirror. 

“Whoop, Modesty alert,” he announced, and stood up, radiating importance.  “Sorry, boys.  Show’s over.” 

               He turned to make his way to the door through the heavy kitchen traffic, but not before catching another pan.  Raising his arms, he struck them together, like cymbals – and the room was immediately engulfed in organized pandemonium. 

“Whoa!” 

               Harry leaped back as three knives rushed past him to the drawers, which all immediately snapped open – before the metallic ringing even stopped.  Dishes flew to the cupboards at thrice the speed – and the spices quickly ran along the counters to Queenie. 

               Silverware clattered – the mop galloped across the room to the corner – the napkins flopped onto the table and arranged themselves into a neat, very much non-living pile –

               And all of that was over in under ten seconds. 

“Time!” Jacob called, and clicked the timer on his watch as he walked to the door.  “7.64.  Not bad, guys.  Not bad at all.” 

               His only response was Queenie’s radiant smile.  The rest of the kitchen stood quiet, and seemed perfectly normal and dead – except for the proud sparkle in its air that even Harry could feel. 

 

***

 

               Harry had another nightmare that very evening.  It wasn’t even properly night – they’d gone to bed early, weary from the hike, the clean-ups, and the hours spent researching the history of the castle in the library. 

               It was so blissfully normal – they’d bickered over the turn to use the loo, and ended up bumping irritably against one another as they crowded over the sink together.  Then Draco turned off the lights, because Harry was still under the wandless ban – and they crawled between the covers, unable to resist curling around each other. 

               Draco’s arm slipped around Harry’s waist, and his entire body was relaxed.  Harry felt perfect – and with a smile, he let sleep claim him. 

               That, he soon realized, was a mistake. 

_FREAK!_

               The shrill, ugly word pierced the warm darkness behind his eyelids, and all this peace he managed to salvage was torn to shreds. 

_FREAK!  You’re a freak – a monster –_

               Every word was like a wound, and blood bubbled at their surface.  The air stung his hands, and his back – it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much –

 _Wicked, evil, disgusting – abomination – JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER!_

               He could hear Aunt Petunia’s voice echoing the words.  She sounded smug, and he hated her – he hated her –

               And she held all the power.  She finally had him exactly where she’d always wanted him, under her pointed heel, weak and broken, lying in the dirt, where he belonged –

 _Shut up!  Don’t you DARE cry – take it, you pig, and be grateful that I care to do this!  I gave you a home – I put the clothes on your back, I gave you food off my table, and you’re still whining?.._

“No – no – please, stop – ” 

_You don’t deserve any of it.  You should be out on the street, among filth like you._  

“Please – ” 

               Her voice was full of righteousness.  Full of hatred. 

_I swore I’d beat it out of you – but I can’t, can I?..  This evil is still inside you – you’re cruel, you’re heartless._

               He supposed he was.  He didn’t even know what was it he’d done this time – a good person, a kind person would be able to tell – and he didn’t know –

 _You don’t even deserve to live._  

               He could taste blood on his lips – did she slap him?..  He was weak, he was wrong, he was alone, and he would always be alone – she was right, and that hurt most of all.  Nobody could ever love him for what he was – not if they knew the real him –

               He deserved it, he knew… 

               Because his blood was like acid, and the air burned in his lungs.  Because he was a storm.  Mindless.  Worthless.  Nothing but pure destruction and evil. 

               A stifled moan escaped his throat, like a squeak –

_Quit howling.  You have no right to cry!  I should be crying, me, I’m the one raising a monster.  Shut your mouth!_

               He – he couldn’t – 

               Fear twisted his stomach, and he felt sick. 

_That’s it.  You brought this on yourself, remember._

“No – please, no – ” 

“Harry!  Wake up!” 

“Don’t – ” 

“Harry!” 

               And just like that, Draco’s hand was shaking him awake.  Harry gasped, his body jerking away at a reflex – but then he collapsed in a heap on the mattress, breathing heavily.  Tears were prickling at his eyes, and he couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away. 

               Inhale.  Exhale. 

               He stifled another little whine.  It was a dream.  Just a dream… 

               Draco was lying on his side next to him, stroking his hair.  His movements seemed so tender that the nightmare was already flaking away – Petunia was fucking wrong, he had friends – and Draco had seen Harry at his worst, he knew exactly what Harry was like, and he still cared… 

“What was the dream about?” Draco asked softly. 

               Harry stared back at his silvery eyes, which reflected the pale moonlight, and his breathing was slowly evening out. 

“It was the s-storm again,” he croaked.  “And, and my aunt…” 

“Your aunt?  Dudley’s mum?” 

“Yeah,” Harry swallowed, almost choking at the memory of her voice.  He’d forgotten it long ago – but now every resentment he ever felt, every hurt came rushing back.  “She – ” 

               He broke off, sniffling. 

“What did she do?”

               Draco’s voice was quiet, and Harry let out a bitter laugh. 

“Speech of her fucking life,” he said.  “She said that I’m – I’m a freak, and a ton of other things like that…”

               He hiccoughed, and sniffled again, blinking his tears away violently. 

“She – she said that I deserved to, to live on the street.  That nobody could ever love me – ”

“She was lying,” Draco said harshly.  His fingers stilled on Harry’s cheek. 

               Harry sighed shakily.

“Thanks.” 

               Draco was silent for a moment, and Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to relax.  The room was dark, and fragrant summer wind drifted in through the open – and shielded – window, and it shouldn’t have been so difficult –

               Except it was. 

               He reached out blindly, and found Draco.  He was still there – he always was – and Harry smiled through his tears, because the sense of relief he felt was overpowering.  He shuffled closer, and let his forehead rest against Draco’s chest. 

               Draco’s hand was carding gently through Harry’s tangled hair, and it felt beautiful. 

“Harry – Harry…  You know she was wrong, right?  She’s just a stupid nightmare bitch,” he was saying quietly.  “You’re – you’re loved, you’re loved so much…”

               Harry exhaled lightly at the words.  An aching warmth was squeezing his heart, and he felt this ache with every cell in his body.  It was strangely wonderful and familiar – and he wasn’t sure if he was usually allowed to feel it, but this quiet evening seemed like an exception, in any case. 

               He pressed closer to Draco, and let the stubborn, hungry emotion swallow him up.  Lately it’s been prodding at him more than ever – because the same Draco that laughed at his clothing choices, at his excitability and his social skills –

               That same Draco stayed with him after each increasingly embarrassing moment of weakness, and comforted him, even when Harry should’ve been able to deal with it on his own.  It was dumb, it was ridiculous…  Big, scary Auror – the best Auror on the force – shaking like a leaf after a stupid dream. 

               He sniffled again, as the last teary shudders slowly left him. 

               It didn’t matter.  Draco was still there, and somehow, he didn’t think Harry was a worthless excuse for a person, which was hard to believe when Harry himself was thinking that. 

               How could Draco still be here?..  He was always so difficult to impress – why was he still around, now that he knew how pathetic Harry could be?.. 

               Something clenched in Harry’s throat, and he choked on empty air. 

“Draco – ”

“Shh,” Draco whispered.  “Just sleep.  Everything’s alright, Harry…  It’s alright…” 

               His caresses had slowed by then, but his palm still rested on the back of Harry’s neck.  Harry thought absentmindedly that he never let anyone touch him there – not even Ron and Hermione – but he soon brushed the thought away.  His body wasn’t scared at all.  His breath hitched as Draco’s thumb brushed gently against his skin – but his normal cringing never came.  

               He trusted Draco’s touch, despite himself.  He was safe. 

               He could feel it – holding him, protecting him.    

               He knew with absolute certainty that he was safe, and cared for, and – and maybe even _loved_ – and he wanted it to last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for chapter 6! Kudos are appreciated, and if you leave a comment, I will love you forever =)


	7. Chapter 7

 

                The sky was a shining grey behind the dining room windows, and the clouds lurked in the valleys like a milky film – when Harry flopped heavily into his chair.  Draco smiled at him from the other side of the table, and he tried to grin back, but felt like he didn’t quite make it.  He was frankly exhausted, and his patience was wearing thin with the continuous lack of information.  

 

                The magical residue around the castle was becoming more concentrated by the day, but they couldn’t trace the source – a quick Ministry check confirmed that Queenie and Jacob lived in America until a few months ago, and therefore couldn’t have anything to do with the case – and the sabotages would’ve been completely unrelated, too…  If only the surges didn’t mark every single one. 

 

                Nothing made any sense in forensics.  They could try working the suspect line again, but in a castle riddled with secret passages, alibis lost their significance – and motive was a difficult thing to find on its own.  The case was an official mess, and the Ministry knew nothing, as well. 

 

                There was too little information, no resources beyond the castle library, and a vague timeline with an inexplicable gap that made Harry want to scream. 

 

                Overall, the only workable clues they had were Harry’s own nightmares –

 

                He groaned, and let his forehead drop to the polished tabletop.  He’d been having the nightmares every night for the past three days.  A surge accompanied all of them, the same as always – devoid of any proper magical signatures.  It was becoming unbearable –

 

“Harry?” 

 

“Hhnghh.” 

 

“ _Harry_.” 

 

                He lifted his head off the table and met with Draco’s concerned gaze. 

 

“What?” he demanded. 

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

                Harry grinned. 

 

“Mostly.” 

 

“Mostly meaning?..” 

 

                Harry thought for a moment before replying. 

 

“Eighty percent,” he decided finally. 

 

                Draco raised an eyebrow, which was somehow both amused and judgemental. 

 

“And the other twenty?” he pressed relentlessly, and Harry sighed. 

 

“The other twenty is my brain screeching incoherently,” he admitted, tapping his nails angrily on the table.  “Or something like that.” 

 

“Good old everyday life.” 

 

                Harry laughed, and Draco smiled. 

 

“Do you know anything definite yet?” he asked, and Harry bit at his lip, almost reliving the morning again. 

 

                The dreams were disturbingly vivid, and he hated the powerless feeling that came with them. 

 

_I’m going to die – please, take me back!  Help me – please, help me…  I don’t want to die – please, just take me back!.._

_Crumbling stone.  Darkness, and the storm’s incessant screams._

_Please!.._

“Nope,” he grunted, wincing at the memory.  “Nothing new.” 

 

“It’s trapped, hurt, and it thinks it’s going to die?”

 

_Help me…_

 

“Yeah.  It’s scared – well, the scared bit borders on terrified now, but overall it’s still the same…  Still pleading for help.  It makes me feel like – I feel like shit.” 

 

“Anyone would with that level of exhaustion.” 

 

“It’s not that,” Harry shook his head.  “It’s – it’s just that I _want_ to help it, you know?..  I do, like, really do, and I’m getting nowhere.  The case is a fucking standstill.”

 

                Draco scoffed, and twirled a little silver spoon in his teacup. 

 

“There’s an informational deficiency,” he said.  “You can’t blame yourself for that – ” 

 

“Don’t underestimate me,” Harry chuckled.  “I can and I will, and anyway, I’m sure this would be different if you were the one it tried to talk to.  I mean, seriously, why me?..  I’m pretty thick, to be – ” 

 

“No, you’re not,” Draco said impatiently.  “You have a hundred-percent solved rate.” 

 

“Always a first time.” 

 

                Draco waved a dismissive hand. 

 

“It’s just progressing slower than usual – which, may I remind you, is actually the average speed for the department…” he paused to smirk at the flush that was prickling Harry’s face, and gave his tea another satisfied spin.  “And anyway, slow is _normal_ when you barely have anything to go on – ”  

 

“Years of surge logging – ”

 

“And we’ve done more analysis in this past week than the idiots who did it,” Draco insisted.  “Nobody even realized that gap was there before you owled Robards about it!” 

 

“Anyone could’ve noticed that,” Harry told him. 

 

“Yeah, but they didn’t.  You did.” 

 

                Harry sighed, and let his head thud to the table again. 

 

“Whatever,” he muttered.  “The case is still a mess, and I still feel like shit.” 

 

“You too, huh?”

 

                Dr. Bai’s voice lacked all its polish as she trudged into the dining room, and made her way straight to the coffee pot. 

 

“The world has gone mad,” she announced over the kettle’s business-like gurgling.  “Decisively mad.” 

 

                Draco raised his eyebrows. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

“All kinds of things,” Dr. Bai sighed, pulling out the silverware drawer.  She lifted out a small spoon and eyed it critically.  “For one, somebody’s messed with the garden again – the apple grove this time – ” 

 

“Oh, no,” Harry looked up.  “Charlotte loves that place.” 

 

“I know,” Dr. Bai said.  “It must be awful, her mother planted most of the trees…  She says that at least the root systems weren’t too badly damaged, that’s something.” 

 

                The kettle let out a cheerful ding, and she reached for the handle. 

 

“And as if that wasn’t enough, they smashed up the floor in reception,” she said irritably.  “The tiling is almost three centuries old, the lack of consideration is just – oh, well.  Jacob fixed it, so now it’s alright, but the person who did it is probably still around – ”

 

“Jacob fixed the tiles?” Draco smirked. 

 

“Very well, too,” Dr. Bai nodded.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were never broken.” 

 

“A man of many talents.” 

 

“Certainly,” she agreed.  “I still wouldn’t trust him with antique china, though – that work is much more delicate, it requires a professional.” 

 

“Antique china?” Harry frowned.  “Was something else broken?” 

 

“Unfortunately,” Dr. Bai gave her coffee several stirs, and picked up the mug.  “A 19th century vase – the one in front of Credence’s room, do you know it?..” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “You mean the one that’s like a big flowerpot, with the white flowers in it?” 

 

“That’s it,” she said.  “Knocked over, a crack running down the side, and the soil was spilled all over the carpet.  They – they stomped on the flowers, too.” 

 

                Harry sat up. 

 

“Bloody hell.  That’s…  That’s kinda vicious.” 

 

“It is, and now I have to go arrange for repairs, and I’m tired out of my mind,” Dr. Bai told him.  “Ugh, I feel like I’m surviving on coffee these days…” 

 

                She turned and strode out of the room, bearing a large mug of black coffee which made Harry’s jaw swivel with just the thought of its bitterness.  He supposed that even a tired Dr. Bai was innately more powerful than the rest of them, and wondered what it was like. 

 

                Not even in his wildest dreams he could imagine drinking plain black coffee and enjoying it. 

 

                Harry stared at his own mug.  It was a random selection from the little cabinet, heavy, black, and kind of shiny, like most of the furniture in the castle, and it stood out darkly against the pristine white of the lacy table mat.  The mug contained tea – strong, with a splash of milk, just the way Harry liked it – and he decided to take a sip. 

 

“Merlin.  Finally,” Draco declared, and Harry blinked in confusion. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I made this tea – what, twenty minutes ago?” Draco gave him a pointed stare.  “It’s been sitting under a Warming Charm this whole time, and you didn’t even touch it.” 

 

                Harry shrugged. 

 

“Sorry for not appreciating your tea.”

 

“Harry, that’s not the point,” Draco groaned.  “It’s – you have to learn to put yourself first sometimes.  You’re literally on the verge of collapse, and all you care about is that you can’t help a fucking storm.” 

 

“Well, it needs help, doesn’t it?” Harry protested.  “I just feel like – like I can’t fail this – ” 

 

“That’s how you feel about every case we ever get,” Draco sniffed.  “Sure, this one’s not going as well.  It’s not the end of the world.” 

 

“I can’t let it down – ” 

 

“You won’t,” Draco told him with finality.  “And even if you did – it won’t blame you.  It likes you anyway.  As does everyone else.  So shut up, and drink your tea.” 

 

                Harry took another confused sip.  The tea was perfect, he noted – and it sent a trickle of warmth down his throat, which now seemed to be the one thing he was missing the whole morning, and couldn’t find anywhere.  He held the next sip in his mouth for a second before swallowing.  Life was gradually becoming almost bearable – and Harry suddenly realized that he was starving. 

 

                He grabbed a bun from the small woven basket that stood near the middle of the table, and bit into it, tearing almost half of it off in one go.  Fuck, he was alive – starving, angry, frustrated to the bones, but undeniably alive –

 

“Fuck,” he muttered through a mouthful of bread.  “I’m so hungry.” 

 

“You would be, after missing breakfast,” Draco said pointedly.  “And dinner.  And I think I managed to stuff something in that gob of yours yesterday at lunch, but the amount was inconsequential – ” 

 

“Okay, I get it!” Harry swallowed painfully, and reached for a second bun.  He didn’t even bother to get the jam, or the butter – the bread was delicious anyway.  “I’m eating now, aren’t I?” 

 

“You are.  Not enough,” Draco said.  “Seriously, put something on the bun, I can’t even look at this…” 

 

                Harry made a show of cutting open the third one, and smearing it with marmalade. 

 

“Better?” 

 

“Slightly.” 

 

“You’re so hard to please,” Harry smirked, and stuffed the bun – practically in its entirety – into his mouth. 

 

“That’s what’s keeping you alive, so don’t complain,” Draco said sternly, and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.  “At least now you’re not going to die on me.  I don’t know what I’d do with your stinking corpse – ” 

 

“Clutch it in your arms and weep,” Harry suggested, digging his nails under a tangerine’s lumpy skin.  This little orange ball was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  Ever.  And it smelled like heaven. 

 

“Maybe disinfect it first,” Draco hummed, and reached for a tangerine himself.  “I have standards.” 

 

“And I shower,” Harry argued, grinning for real this time.  “I wouldn’t smell _that_ bad – ”

 

“Yeah, you would.  Death doesn’t care that you’re the Boy Who Lived – remember the Inferius nest from two years back?..” 

 

                Harry groaned. 

 

“Don’t remind me,” he laughed.  “God, that case was disgusting.” 

 

                They fell into a comfortable silence from there.  Harry pulled the tangerine slices apart, before lining them up in a little circle on a saucer, like Draco had.  He watched Draco eat them elegantly, one by one, and tried to do the same – except his way was much faster, and soon he was reaching for a second, annoyingly small, fruit. 

 

“Draco…” he began tentatively – and Draco’s face broke into a warm, easy smile, even though he was looking away. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I was just thinking,” Harry said.  “What…  What did you mean, the storm likes me?..  I thought this whole communication thing was random – ” 

 

“It’s most certainly not.” 

 

                The clouds shifted outside to reveal a bit of blue.  Harry blinked. 

 

“How can you tell?” 

 

                Draco sighed. 

 

“The way it acts around you,” he said.  “It’s kind of obvious, actually.  By now, you’ve had – what is it, five nightmare nights, and two close encounters?” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, thinking gloomily of the incident the day before. 

 

                They’d gone to investigate the other hotspot room – the one Queenie mentioned when reception got trashed.  It was a wide, dark, empty space on the border of the South Wing, almost like a hangar, only accessible by means of a tiny door near the ceiling – from which rickety wooden stairs descended to the ground – and another, padlocked one, which led outside. 

 

                The entire place was crawling with the same magic that penetrated the entire castle.  It seeped into every splinter of the railing that lined the rafters, it rose from the floor like smoke, and it hung in the air, like a continuous hiss. 

 

                It was even worse than the gorge, Harry had thought, following Draco down from the creaky ledge – just before a tickling sensation ran over his arms. 

 

                He’d opened his mouth to warn Draco – but in that moment, the padlocked door flew open, chains snapping like they were yarn.  The storm burst into the room – furious – an erratic pulse of lightning shivering in its depths.  It tore the remainders of the door apart, and reared, turning to them –

 

                It took seconds of running about, trying to get out of its way – and there it was, Harry’s second encounter.  The storm charged at him – engulfed him, like a crashing ocean wave.  It was roaring, and the entire world had turned into a tempest of black smoke, and it was aggressive, angry, so much angrier than it was at the gorge, and it was so, so hurt… 

 

“But it didn’t hurt you,” Draco was saying now.  “Not once, all these times – ” 

 

“Wha – ?  Sorry,” Harry shook his head guiltily.  “I, uh – could you repeat that?” 

 

“Not much to repeat,” Draco shrugged.  “Except the first time we met – at the Fairy Gate – it slammed me into a fucking mountain.  And the second time, it chucked a broken beam, I had to Apparate out of the way.  But you…” 

 

                He paused significantly, and Harry sighed, giving him a look. 

 

“Me, what?” he prompted. 

 

“You, it didn’t hurt at all.  Not purposefully, not by accident,” Draco said.  “That last time – it was angry, it was tearing that whole room apart, but it shielded you from the falling balcony.  It was protecting you.”

 

                Harry stared. 

 

“Protecting me?” he repeated. 

 

“Yes,” Draco nodded.  “There’s definitely a connection there, this thing is raw emotion.” 

 

                Harry sat back, and tried to digest this information.  He understood it perfectly – Draco made it sound so simple – except it didn’t help much, and Merlin, why was it always him?..  He had no idea what to do in this situation. 

 

“So – what, then?” he questioned.  “Am I – am I supposed to be friends with it now?” 

 

“It already thinks you’re friends,” Draco shrugged.  “Might as well.” 

 

“Oh.  Great,” Harry said feebly. 

 

                Draco smirked. 

 

“Look at you,” he drawled.  “Completely floored.  Saviour of the fucking world, and still surprised when somebody likes you.” 

 

“It’s an inhuman magical force,” Harry protested.  “You’d be surprised, too!” 

 

“I’d be _gloating_ ,” Draco corrected him.  “Which, apparently, you just don’t know how to do…  And you don’t know how to peel oranges, either.” 

 

                Harry frowned, studying the pile of tangerine peels on his saucer.  It looked perfectly acceptable to him – neat and stacked. 

 

“What?” he asked finally. 

 

                Draco made a dissatisfied noise. 

 

“All these little bits,” he said.  “Seriously, why do you do that?..  It’s so messy, and difficult to throw out afterwards, and you can’t even have any fun with them – ”

 

“Fun?  With orange peels?” 

 

“Absolutely,” Draco nodded, and motioned to Harry’s plate, glowering.  “Though not with these, of course.  They’re a disgrace.” 

 

                Harry raised his eyebrows, and pulled another tangerine from their little basket.  He stared at it for a moment, willing it to divulge some secret meaning, and tossed it to Draco, who caught it easily. 

 

“Alright,” he said.  “How would you peel it, then?” 

 

                Draco assumed a superior air as he spun the tangerine on his index finger, before letting it roll down into his palm once again. 

 

“See the top?” he asked, showing it to Harry. 

 

“It has two – ” 

 

“Where it used to grow on the tree,” Draco clarified impatiently.  “That’s the top.  You start around it, like this – and you scrape the peel off bit by bit – without breaking it.  Looping around, see?  Make a snake.” 

 

                Harry chuckled, picking up another tangerine. 

 

“Do you even know how stereotypical you sound?” 

 

                Draco waved him off, busy with the peel. 

 

“Shut up, Harry,” he said.  “It’s not my fault that Slytherin is the only house that properly teaches you how to peel an orange.” 

 

                He pulled the last bit of peel off the tangerine with a proud smirk, and dangled the whole thing in front of Harry’s face. 

 

“Okay,” Harry said.  “Awesome.  Now you’ve got a snake toy.”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“It only has one eye.”

 

“It’s a pirate snake,” Draco told him seriously, before pulling it back to his side of the table.  “Anyway, that’s not the fun part.” 

 

                Harry sighed. 

 

“What’s the fun part?”

 

                Draco grinned – obviously, the entire scene was leading up to this moment. 

 

“The fun part,” he said, savouring the words, “The fun part is that we’re wizards.  And since the peel is all in one piece, it makes it very easy to do…  This.” 

 

                He held the snake’s head between two fingers, while his right hand picked up its other end.  Quickly, he spun the peel together, twisting around – until it stood awkwardly on his palm in the same position it once was, looking like an uneven, striped tangerine.  Reaching into his pocket, Draco pulled out his wand, and pointed it at his creation. 

 

                Harry didn’t take his eyes off the peel, intrigued despite himself. 

 

“What’re you – ” 

 

“ _Reparo_ ,” Draco said softly. 

 

                The peel jerked, and shifted a little, sealing the gaps between its coils.  The last twist of its tail, and a perfect tangerine sat in Draco’s hand – completely empty inside. 

 

                He picked it up carefully, and offered it to Harry, an innocent smile on his face. 

 

“Care for an orange?” 

 

                Harry stared at the orange shell, realization dawning in his brain. 

 

“It’s – ” 

 

“Yes.”

 

                Harry couldn’t help himself.  He burst out laughing, loudly, with complete abandon – feeling so carefree that it would be a crime to keep it all in.  Draco was smiling at him, still holding out the ridiculous, empty tangerine – the prank was worthy of a first-year – and every time Harry looked down at it, he felt another peal of laughter bubbling in his chest. 

 

                Draco was laughing, too – quietly, but so effortlessly, so happily – it was beautiful.  His laughing face was more beautiful than all the pranks in the entire world. 

 

“You are such a dick,” Harry wheezed, wiping the tears from his eyes and gasping for breath.  He took one look at Draco’s face, and started giggling again.  “You’re a horrible, deceitful person, Draco.” 

 

“But I’m loveable,” Draco grinned, and tossed the empty tangerine to Harry. 

 

                Harry caught it with one hand, careful not to break the peel.  He looked at it, bright and innocent in his hand, and smiled, leaning back in his chair. 

 

“True,” he acknowledged. 

 

                He twirled the tangerine in his hand, and golden bands of sunlight flickered on the polished wood of the table.  He’d learned to cherish these little moments, when all the world seemed alright, or maybe even happy – you never knew when they might end. 

 

                Harry tossed the empty peel into the air, and caught it again.  For now, he could believe that everything will turn out fine, because Draco was smiling at him and he himself was grinning back like a total idiot. 

 

“Thanks,” he said softly, and smiled even wider.  “Man, I’ll have to try this with Ron one day.” 

 

                Draco snorted. 

 

“Take a picture of his face when you do.” 

 

“What’re you gonna do, hang it up at the Manor?” Harry grinned.

 

“That or blackmail,” Draco admitted.  “Either way, it’ll be a wondrous sight…  You know, if you finish your tea, I think you’ll live to see it.” 

 

                Harry smiled, lifting the mug to his lips. 

 

“I just might.” 

 

“ _Might_ …  You’re such a pessimist,” Draco scoffed, and then a touch of genuine worry slithered into his voice.  “You’re…  You _are_ feeling better now, aren’t you?” 

 

“I think so,” Harry said.  “Then again, you always say I look like a zombie anyway – ” 

 

“I’m serious!” 

 

“No, that’s my godfather,” Harry deadpanned, and snickered at the glare he received for that.  “Okay, fine.  I am feeling better.  Definitely alive, not a zombie.  Satisfied?” 

 

                Draco hummed, studying his face. 

 

“It’ll do,” he decided eventually.  “Let’s see if you can keep it up.” 

 

“I dunno about that,” Harry sighed.  “We’re running out of time.  That stuff Dr. Bai was talking about – the fucked-up garden, and the floor – that’s earth, isn’t it?” 

 

“Absolutely, and the vase is directly pointing to Credence as the target,” Draco nodded.

 

“As opposed to the vague fan-and-flooding shit,” Harry agreed.  “How much time does this give us?” 

 

                Draco tapped uncertainly on the table, his pale fingers bouncing like piano keys. 

 

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I’d say two to three days at most.  That’s until the fire.” 

 

“Which is the final phase before murder mama.” 

 

“Exactly.” 

 

                Harry groaned, and sat back in his chair. 

 

“This isn’t fucking fair,” he complained miserably.  “Why do bad things always happen to people I care about?..” 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“This isn’t fucking fair,” Harry told the heavy stone wall. 

 

                It didn’t reply, standing mute and uncaring in front of the little square table, at which he was seated. 

 

“Not that you’d understand.  You’re a bloody wall.” 

 

                It stared back at him, silent, and he sighed, turning his attention back to the book that lay open in front of him – before slamming it shut with frustration. 

 

“Useless,” he muttered. 

 

                He’d hidden himself away in the far corner of the surprisingly large library, books piling up shakily on the rickety table, which was almost certainly not designed for desperate Aurors’ literary needs.  Frighteningly tall shelves rose everywhere around him, like a fortress, and they were lined so thickly with books that Harry could barely look at them.  He kept feeling like they were readying themselves to topple over. 

 

                The ones on his table were about to, anyway.  He’d leafed through nine dusty volumes, trying to find out something specific about the castle’s magical history – hell, he’d settle for alien sightings at this point.   His nose itched, and his eyes were watery, and his brain pulsed rhythmically along with the rustling paper.  It was torture, and just to top it off, the lights kept fucking flickering. 

 

“Ugghhh.” 

 

                Harry pulled off his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes.  The day was already dim outside the castle, leaving the black plastic table lamp as his only source of light, and a shitty one at that.  The worst bit was that he couldn’t do much about it – magic would just kill it completely. 

 

                He caught a glimpse of his blurry face in its curved surface, and smiled bitterly.  He looked frankly horrible, and his hair was a worse mess than in the morning, which was an accomplishment in itself. 

 

“Draco would have a lot to say about that,” he confided in the lamp.  “He’d go on, and on, and then he’d grab a damn hairbrush, and try to untangle this fucking nest.  Because he’s Draco.” 

 

                The lamp seemed impressed with Draco’s alleged dedication, so Harry continued. 

 

“Draco’s amazing, you know?..  Yeah, you don’t.  Well, he wouldn’t sit here for hours, like me, he’d find something already.  Weird lights, a story about noises in the dark, something.  There has to be something.” 

 

                The lamp buzzed, and flickered, and Harry glared at it. 

 

“There _has_ to be,” he told it stubbornly.  “Because there’s no way all this magic just popped up here, out of nowhere.  Thirteen-fucking-years ago.” 

 

                _Buzz.  Whirr.  Flicker._   The lamp looked haughtily amused, much like Draco at Auror meetings. 

 

“Seriously,” Harry argued.  “With so much power, it had to be cooking here for a while.  Magic doesn’t like to travel.  Unless, of course, somebody just scooped it up somewhere else and brought it here, but that makes no sense.”   

 

                The lamp whirred sympathetically, and he sighed. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Draco’s not here.  He’s organizing – that’s what he calls it, the trying to find a pattern.  He’s putting all our info in different orders.  It works.  Usually.  When we _have_ info.” 

 

                The lamp shone solidly on – steady and disapproving. 

 

“Look, this case is different!” Harry said defensively.  “Literally all of it revolves around a fake fucking haunting, and there aren’t any connections to anything else – but the magic is real, and I’m not even sure if it’s human – ”

 

                The lamp made no reply, and he slumped. 

 

“It thinks we’re friends, though,” he said quietly.  “The – the magic.  It trusts me – I should be helping it…  I should be trying to find it, to talk to it – and I’m sitting here, talking to a fucking lamp.” 

 

                He stared emptily at the wall in front of him. 

 

“I don’t even know what I’d say,” he muttered.  “ _I’m sorry?..  I wish I could do something?.._   Merlin, this sounds stupid…  Hey, _I’m_ stupid, just deal with it!  I don’t fucking know how to comfort a storm, okay?” 

 

                He straightened up, reaching over to pick up his glasses, and push them back onto his face.  The room swung into focus, and he tilted his chair back, glancing at the tall library window.  The curtains weren’t drawn, and it was nagging at him – the yellow light of the old lamp made the entire room a shining target in comparison to the outside world, which was now plunged into murky indigo. 

 

“Great,” Harry grunted, and got up. 

 

                He crossed over to the window, careful to keep to the side of it, and yanked the curtains shut.  The fabric was thick and velvety, and he held on to it for a while longer, staring at his own rigid knuckles. 

 

                The storm was probably still out there, somewhere in that damp and endless dark.  Still crying, still flinging itself against the sharp cliffs of the Fairy Gate…  Harry wished he could find it – maybe he wouldn’t do much, but at least he’d be there with it.  Perhaps that was the thing it needed most, just to know that he’d do that – because all it had ever known was loneliness, and because nobody’s ever cared about its pain, because it was always on its own –

 

                _You’re not – not anymore,_ he thought, his fingers clenching. _I’m your friend, aren’t I?..  You’re not alone…_  

 

                The lamp buzzed loudly behind him, and he jumped, turning around.  It was standing on the table, wedged between the book stacks, just the way he left it – and it was going nuts, so much that it hurt Harry’s eyes to look at its twitching. 

 

                It hissed and flickered frantically at him, its whirring rising like a swan song. 

 

“What the fuck?” Harry muttered, and hurried over. 

 

                _Flicker.  Buzz.  Flicker, flicker, flicker._  

 

                He reached to poke the lightbulb, but the lamp was maliciously quicker.  With a blinding flash, it jittered and went out completely, plunging the room into blackness. 

 

“Ouch!..  Aaghh.  Fantastic.”

 

                Pulling his wand out with a quick _Lumos_ , Harry danced awkwardly around the table.  He grabbed a few books – whatever he could carry – and headed to the door.  There wasn’t much he could do in the dark –

 

                He was just rounding the corner, when he saw the door swinging open. 

 

 

 

                Harry ducked back behind the shelves, barely managing to keep his books from clattering down.  He exhaled slowly to calm his racing heart rate, and listened. 

 

“Credence, I’m _telling_ you,” Adam was saying – loudly, as usual.  Harry peeked between the books, and saw him gesticulating wildly.  “There’s something off about those two.  Like, _off_.” 

 

                Harry held his breath, his ears pricking up almost on their own.  _Those two_ – did Adam mean _them_?..  Him and Draco?..  A tension ran along Harry’s spine as he waited for Credence to reply. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Adam said.  “Just – don’t they seem kinda fake to you?  At all?” 

 

“Not really.” 

 

                The lamps came on with a plastic click.  Harry winced, and wondered if they were always so bloody bright.  He blinked violently at the shining black spot floating in the corner of his eye. 

 

                Adam and Credence were still talking among themselves – their footsteps came closer, and Harry shrank back into the shadowy corner, where the light didn’t quite reach.  The last thing he needed was to accidentally confirm Adam’s suspicions – whatever the hell they were.  He set his books carefully into the empty gap on one of the shelves, and turned his attention back to the definitely private conversation. 

 

                Adam was still pushing his line. 

 

“I keep getting this vibe from them,” he pressed on, over in the central library room.  “Like it’s all an act.” 

 

                _What?.._   Harry frowned.  He barely talked to the guy!  And anyway, both Draco and he passed the Muggle Cover test with stellar grades –

 

“Adam, I’m – ” Credence began, but Adam cut him off. 

 

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he insisted.  “And I don’t care.  I know they’re hiding something.” 

 

“Like what?” Credence asked.  Harry nodded vehemently in agreement behind the shelves. 

 

“Like _something_ – ” 

 

“It’s in the name of law and order, you prick,” Harry muttered under his breath, and edged carefully past a squeaky rack of books to get a better view of the scene. 

 

“They could be criminals, for all you know!  Like, fake names, fake IDs…  I mean, what kind of name is _Draco_?”  Adam scoffed, and Harry smirked to himself, imagining all the comments Draco would come up with at this point. 

 

“What kind of name is Credence?..” 

 

                There was a short pause. 

 

“Okay, fair point,” Adam acknowledged with a chuckle, and then his voice hardened again.  “I still wouldn’t trust him an inch – ” 

 

“Are you sure – ” 

 

“And I know you’re all buddy-buddy with Harry, but I wouldn’t let him get any closer, either.” 

 

                Harry started, and glared at Adam’s pale electrical shadow.  Who did this guy think he was?..

 

“Harry is my friend,” Credence said quietly. 

 

“I know,” Adam sighed.  “And I’d really like to think that’s true, but…  I just don’t trust him.  I don’t, and I can’t believe you do.” 

 

                Credence was silent for a moment.  When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. 

 

“Are – are you angry with me?” 

 

“Sort of.  Not really,” Adam shrugged.  “I’m worried, is all.  I mean, face it, you’re too trusting.  You’d be friends with bloody Frankenstein if he said he liked your library or something…  What’re we doing here, by the way?” 

 

“What – oh.  I, uh, I meant to get a book for Modesty, she asked me to – it’s on that shelf there.” 

 

                Harry thanked Merlin it wasn’t the same shelf he was hiding behind – and then had to physically restrain himself from casting a few Cushioning Spells.  He groaned internally, as a dull metallic clang told him that Credence was climbing up the flimsy ladder on the side of the cabinets. 

 

                It was, in Harry’s opinion, a fucking death trap.  The sickly cousin of the Eiffel Tower, it reached almost all the way to the ceiling, and he hated the sight of it. 

 

                He counted seconds, and prayed nothing would happen. 

 

                The clanging recommenced, this time downwards, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief – as quietly as he could manage it.  He was happy that Credence was alive, but that didn’t mean he’d enjoy getting busted –

 

“Got it,” Credence said, and Adam laughed. 

 

“Good.  I swear, I thought this thing was gonna crumble with you up top – or, I dunno, you’d fall or something.  You look like you’re about to fall flat down here, never mind on a ladder – ” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Seriously, how much do you sleep?..” Adam demanded.  “Can’t be enough, you’re half-dead…  You should go to bed.  Like, now.  It’s late.” 

 

“But Modesty – ”

 

“Gimme the book.  I’ll take it to her, claim all the glory while I’m at it,” Adam grinned, holding out his hand with a grabbing motion. 

 

                There was a small pause. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Yeah, totally.  You need to rest.” 

 

“Um.  Alright.  I’ll – I’ll try,” Credence acquiesced.  “Thank you.” 

 

                A rustling indicated that the leather-bound volume switched hands, and a second later, Harry saw Adam’s eyebrows go up. 

 

“ _Jane Eyre_?..  Uh – not to judge, but isn’t this a little…  Heavy for a ten-year-old?” 

 

“I – I don’t know,” Credence said, shrinking back a little.  “I read it when I was her age.” 

 

“Huh.  Okay, weirdo,” Adam sighed, flipping through the pages, and then whistled.  “Holy shit.  I wouldn’t make it through this _now_ – man.  Literally everybody in this castle is mental.” 

 

“Queenie – ” 

 

“Queenie likes horror movies,” Adam told him.  “I heard her _laughing_ one time, while people were getting fricking murdered on TV.” 

 

“She just thought it was too unrealistic,” Credence shook his head, but his voice was quiet still.  “It’s not as if she likes seeing people torn apart.” 

 

“Hopefully,” Adam said, sounding rather unconvinced.  “Come on.  Duty done, you can go sleep now…  Who knows, maybe you’ll actually look like a living person in the morning.” 

 

 

 

                The secret mechanism whirred and clicked, sealing the wall shut as Credence left the library.  Adam hung about for a while – poking at the books, and muttering their titles under his nose – and then, grabbing one at random, he strolled out through the door. 

 

                Harry waited for a few seconds before smacking himself with a Disillusionment Charm, and hastily following him into the silent depths of the evening castle.  He’d finally managed to memorize most of the corridors, and at least could vouch for his own ability to get back to the guest rooms – otherwise, he’d be in a hell of a lot of shit –

 

                He smiled to himself, picturing a frazzled Draco hauling him out of a twisted passageway, and then shook himself back into alertness, quickening his pace.  After they left Dr.Bai’s rooms, Adam headed immediately to the opposite side of the castle, diving into a narrow, dimly lit hallway.  Tracking in these conditions was a straight-up nightmare. 

 

                Especially when the guy was zigzagging confidently through dozens of identical halls. 

 

                Harry crept resolutely behind. 

 

                A nagging little voice was going absolutely nuts in his head, and for once, it was difficult to write off as simple paranoia.  Because, seriously – what reason could Adam possibly have for suspecting him of anything?..  Or Draco – he never even talked to Draco, not properly.  Unless – unless, of course, he just _recognized_ them – except the scan had pegged him as a Muggle –

 

                Harry’s shoe squeaked on the suddenly carpetless floor. 

 

                Adam tensed a few meters ahead.  He stood completely motionless – as if waiting for the sound to repeat itself.  Harry gritted his teeth – non-verbal, _non-verbal_ –

 

 _Muffliato_. 

 

                He bit at his lip nervously, straining to hear the telltale hum of silence.  And there it was – all around him.  He grinned, and stepped into a doorway and out of the Adam’s line of sight, as he glanced quickly over his shoulder – without really looking for something in particular. 

 

                It was just a nervous movement of any normal person walking through a dark, kinda creepy place. 

 

                Though actually, Harry realized with a jolt, this motion didn’t suit Adam at all.  They’d been going through one creepy dark hallway after another, and this whole time, he carried himself like was familiar with them – no, like he owned them –

 

                Adam knew these corridors like the palm of his hand, even though they were heading to an empty section of the castle.  No carpets.  Dust.  Cobwebs.  Even the lone painting on the wall seemed bored with its own solitude, and Harry fought the desire to sneeze, if only to lighten the mood. 

 

                There was no way a gardener could know this place.  _No commonplace, innocent, harmless way, that is_ , Harry corrected himself, and hoped to every demon that his Disillusionment Charms would hold. 

 

                Meanwhile, Adam approached a small wooden door – and Harry gave a start, recognizing it.  It was that same door they used to sneak into the West Wing, during their first sweep – the same door that hid the fake, horrible, laughing ghost –

 

                The same door that had a handle smeared with soil. 

 

                He peeked out from behind the corner, and watched Adam pull the padlock away to open the West Wing door – so casually, it could’ve been a greenhouse.  The creak wandered aimlessly through the dust particles in the air, dissipating as it went.  It didn’t have much to add to the story anyway. 

 

                A million things swirled madly in Harry’s head.  Fans.  Busted toilets.  Broken flowers underneath Credence’s window – 

 

“God, you are such a dick,” Harry breathed, staring at Adam’s back. 

 

                Cloaked with the hum of _Muffliato,_ Adam ignored him, stepping nonchalantly into the musty darkness of the West Wing. 

 

                The door swung closed behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was, in a way, a breather chapter - but, uh... 
> 
> *puts on best Stark voice* 
> 
> BRACE YOURSELVES. FEELINGS ARE COMING. 
> 
> The two following chapters are going to be a hurricane, I promise... And for now - kudos are appreciated, and if you leave a comment, I will love you forever and ever. 
> 
> See ya in a week! =)


	8. Chapter 8

 

“I can’t fucking get over this,” Harry ranted angrily, hopping about the room on one foot as he tried to fit the other through a trouser leg.  “Fucking _Adam_ – ” 

 

               He tripped, and yelped, almost toppling over. 

 

“Careful there, Harry,” Draco hummed, flicking a Cushioning Charm at the floor.  He grinned at the look Harry gave him, and let his head fall back on the pillow.  “Do try not to die.” 

 

“I wouldn’t _die_ ,” Harry said sulkily, and pulled the chair over to sit down.  He yanked irritably at his jeans.  “Not that far to fall.” 

 

“And fatalities have occurred from less,” Draco informed him. 

 

               Rolling over to his side, he watched Harry glower and reach over to rifle through his ugly sports bag in search of a clean shirt.  The bag itself had managed to somehow migrate underneath their desk, and Harry craned himself over, his head barely missing the sharp edge of the tabletop. 

 

“You know, it’s almost as if you don’t value the condition of your head at all,” Draco mused, as the top of Harry’s crown shifted into dangerous proximity with the wood.  “Then again, I suppose it’s one scar more, one less – it’s not such a – oh.  Ouch.” 

 

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry told him, straightening up and rubbing gingerly at his head.  His hair, which was already in a deplorable state of bedhead, freaked out and stood to attention.  “ _Ow_.  Man, what’s this desk even made of?..” 

 

“Red oak, I believe,” Draco said, smirking.  “Salazar, you’d be dead without me…  And the shirt isn’t even worth the pain, in my opinion – ” 

 

               Harry cast him a half-hearted glare. 

 

“It’s comfortable.  Shut up,” he grunted, pulling it on. 

 

               Draco mourned the loss of the view for a moment, but the disappointment soon cleared, because he felt the mattress bounce on his other side.  Harry had flopped down next to him, and everything in the world immediately seemed better. 

 

“What do we even know about Adam?” Harry asked behind him. 

 

“Not much,” Draco admitted.  “He’s a Muggle.  According to the scans, there’s not a single whiff of magic around him – and I don’t feel anything, either…  Well, beyond the stuff that’s everywhere.” 

 

               Harry hummed pensively, and Draco felt the covers crinkle as he shuffled around on the bed. 

 

  “What about background?” 

 

“Not much there, either.  I asked Robards to run a deep search, but – it’s like the fucker popped out of nowhere, really.  About two weeks after Lady Barebone’s death.” 

 

“So there’s a connection?” 

 

“Possibly,” Draco said.  “Probably.  Almost definitely.” 

 

               Harry gave a soft chuckle. 

 

“Our prime suspect, then,” he said. 

 

“More like our only suspect,” Draco grumbled. 

 

“There’s always Charlotte,” Harry pointed out.  The bed creaked as he lifted himself up on his elbow.  “I mean, innocent people don’t just wander around at night, dressed like homicidal ghosts, do they?” 

 

“They don’t,” Draco conceded. 

 

               He stared at the window, where the sky was lightening slowly.  The rain was coming in again, and a chill was seeping doggedly through the glass, but the day wasn’t bad – it was actually very near perfect.  They were lounging about together, and they were so close that Draco could almost feel the heat radiating from Harry’s body.  He tried to resist moving, so that he would. 

 

               Merlin.  He’d always had that natural affinity to making simple things unbearable. 

 

               There was a squeezing ache in his chest.  He was wishing for far too much, he knew – this, right now, was more than enough.  Except maybe if Harry’s arm slipped around him, if his hand was curled around Draco’s, if only Draco was allowed to turn around and press a kiss to his –

 

               Draco’s breath hitched.  Harry’s fingers touched his shoulder – stroking it lightly, almost tenderly – and he was melting under their touch. 

 

“I keep feeling this weird – like this case just isn’t complete,” Harry was saying quietly.  “Like everything we discover just opens more questions.” 

 

“Has to be some unifying factor we’re overlooking,” Draco mumbled.  It was vague, but at least it sounded coherent, which was the most he could manage. 

 

               Harry’s forehead bumped awkwardly into his back, between the shoulder blades, and he gave up on thinking at all.  Harry’s hand rested on his waist, and his hot breaths fluttered against Draco’s spine as he shifted closer, until they were cuddling – so softly.  Their legs tangled together, and it was bliss. 

 

 “What about all the other people?” Harry asked.  “Do we know anything specific?” 

 

               Draco chewed his lip, trying to form an answer. 

 

“I – I suppose,” he said finally.  “The scans aren’t particularly reliable around here, but…  I think I’ve managed to pinpoint most of them.” 

 

               Harry laughed soundlessly, his short little breaths flitting past. 

 

“Of course.  Who else, if not the department genius?..” 

 

“Shut up,” Draco told him, flicking his wrist.  “Do you want to hear the results, or not?” 

 

               Harry poked him back, and pressed closer to him. 

 

“Yeah, I do,” he said.  “Proceed.” 

 

               Draco sighed. 

 

“After the whole thing with Queenie, I ran a full-castle scan,” he began slowly.  “It’s – we only did the deep with the residue halls and the suspects, but now…  Anyway, the whole thing had to be re-evaluated.  Took me days just to set it up.” 

 

“Ouch,” Harry sympathized. 

 

“You’re damn right,” Draco muttered.  “A fucking pain in the arse is what it was – and most of the results were completely useless, too.” 

 

               Harry frowned against his back. 

 

“How so?”

 

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Draco said.  “Adam’s a Muggle, and so are Jacob and Dr. Bai.  No Doubt around any of them.” 

 

“Well, fuck,” Harry laughed, before letting his tone grow serious.  “You sure he’s not hiding it?” 

 

“Fairly sure.  Even if he is, he hasn’t used his magic in months – and that doesn’t exactly suit our problem, does it?” 

 

“It would explain why he’s rolling the good old Muggle way,” said Harry.  “Like – like with the toilet paper thing?..  Maintaining the disguise and all that.” 

 

               Draco grunted in reply. 

 

“Yeah, whatever.  The surges still make no sense.” 

 

“True.” 

 

               Harry’s hand moved down and found Draco’s.  Their fingers curled, lacing together –  so their palms met, and Draco felt everything inside him twist. 

 

“Queenie and Modesty are both witches,” he said, mainly to take his mind of that feeling.  “Well, Modesty still has baby magic, mostly – but she’s been gaining control very quickly – ” 

 

“Especially with a bloody Auror teaching her,” Harry prodded with a grin.  “My, my, Lord Malfoy.  What a disregard for the law – ” 

 

“Excuse you,” Draco said haughtily.  “I have an absolutely obsessive regard for the law.  And the law states, very clearly, that unless I am communicating with a Muggle – which she is not – the Statute of Secrecy remains intact.” 

 

“You’re a nerd,” Harry said, squeezing his hand.  “A _sneaky_ nerd.” 

 

               Draco huffed, and shifted a little, lining himself up into a more comfortable position alongside Harry’s body – until they fit together, like jigsaw pieces. 

 

“You know, it’s almost like you don’t want to hear the rest of my findings,” he drawled. 

 

“You mean you have those?..” Harry gasped, and snickered when Draco pinched him.  “Alright, alright – go on.  I’m listening, I swear.” 

 

“You better,” Draco sniffed.  “Anyway, Charlotte is a Squib.” 

 

               There was a short silence, during which Harry’s thumb was brushing rhythmically over his hand, and Draco smirked to himself. 

 

“So, uh…  How’d you find out?” Harry asked finally. 

 

“Smelled it off her from the start,” Draco shrugged.  “Trace magic residue, plus the previous name she had – I mean, Titania isn’t exactly a Muggle name.  Wasn’t sure, though – but the deep scan confirms it.”  

 

“Great,” Harry sighed.  “More complications.” 

 

               Draco frowned. 

 

“Sure, but – didn’t you already go through her background like, five times?..” 

 

“Yeah, I did,” Harry admitted.  “And there’s nothing, she’s lived her entire life as a Muggle.  There wasn’t ever any indication that her parents were wizards – no record of them being at Hogwarts, either.”  

 

“Huh,” Draco said.  “Okay.  That _is_ weird.” 

 

“You’re telling me.” 

 

“It’s extremely fucking weird, actually,” Draco said thoughtfully.  “Home-schooled wizards are rare…  Well, Hogwarts is optional, of course, but hardly anyone ever makes that other choice.  And here we have two separate wizarding families that never attended.”  

 

               Harry hummed. 

 

“I see what you mean,” he agreed.  “That’s one hell of a coincidence.” 

 

“Statistical improbability,” Draco confirmed.  “Mind you, if you think this is odd…” 

 

“What?” 

 

               Draco didn’t reply for a while.  He wasn’t sure how Harry would take it. 

 

“Stranger things have happened,” he said eventually.  “Namely, Credence.” 

 

               Harry tensed next to him, and his hand tightened in Draco’s. 

 

“Is it – is it the thing that Queenie was talking about?”

 

“Yes,” Draco sighed.  “It’s – I can’t get any readings off him.  At all.  The scans return full of Doubt – he’s not a wizard, he’s not a Muggle, he’s not human, he’s not a creature, he’s Untraceable…  It’s a mess.” 

 

“That’s…  That’s impossible,” Harry said blankly. 

 

“No shit,” Draco grunted.  “I used to be proud of my diagnostics, you know?..  But every single one comes back all warped, or scrambled – ” 

 

“Did you try screening?” 

 

“Harry, I’ve tried everything we’ve ever learned.  Even the most obscure, useless shit Dawlish ever talked about in the evening lectures.  Everything.” 

 

               Harry was silent.  The room around them seemed to darken as he grew completely motionless.  His magic clutched at Draco’s shoulders, and even the rain outside sounded off. 

 

“I’m – I’m worried about him,” Harry said finally.  His voice was quiet. 

 

“So am I,” Draco admitted. 

 

               Harry gave a bitter chuckle, muffled by the fabric of Draco’s shirt. 

 

“It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?..  Like, he’s obviously already dealing with a lot of shit – ”

 

“And then life decides to pile on more shit,” Draco agreed, and sighed.  “Which is apparently the reason we’re here at all.”   

 

“I know,” Harry snorted.  “That’s how our cases generally work.” 

 

               He fell silent again, barely moving a muscle as he lay plastered over Draco.  He pressed tightly to him and buried his face in the crook of Draco’s shoulder, both slumping and rigid at the same time – and he would’ve seemed fine, really, except his breathing was a little uneven. 

 

               Draco gave his hand a tentative squeeze.  It was returned, and he smiled to himself, closing his eyes.  Harry wasn’t quite alright yet – but he would be.  Eventually. 

 

“We’ll solve this,” he promised softly.  “We will – we just haven’t found the right approach yet…” 

 

               Harry scoffed lightly. 

 

“You said yourself you tried everything.” 

 

“And I know I’m still missing something,” Draco pointed out.  He was stroking Harry’s hand – as gently as he could, which he knew wasn’t much.  He wasn’t built for kindness.  “And if I’m missing information – ”

 

“Then you couldn’t have tried everything, just whatever you could based on limited data,” Harry quoted dully.  “Yeah, I know.” 

 

“All we need to do is find the missing piece.  Which we will,” Draco told him, hoping that his voice would carry some believable confidence.  “We’ll find it, neutralize it, and then it will all be over…” 

 

“Yeh dunno tha,” Harry mumbled in reply. 

 

“Uh?” 

 

“You don’t know that,” Harry repeated, pulling his face from Draco’s shirt for a fleeting second, during which Draco missed him intensely. 

 

“I never know that.  And we always do it anyway, so it does seem like there’s a pattern – ” 

 

“Shut up, you despicable optimist.  Let me wallow in my misery,” Harry declared, smushing his nose into Draco’s shoulder once again.  He was like a big, shaggy dog with tangled fur, and warm breath that was a bit smelly – and Draco loved him so much, he couldn’t bear it –

 

“Anything you want, Harry,” he said softly. 

 

“ _Anything_ ,” Harry asserted – less as a question than a statement. 

 

               Draco nudged him good-naturedly. 

 

“Hey.  I’ll even let you punch Adam in the face,” he vowed, grinning. 

 

               He felt Harry smile, and his grip relaxing somewhat. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Really,” Draco confirmed.  In that moment, it seemed to be the most important promise he’d ever made, and certainly the best one. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

               The castle was eerily quiet in those early hours of the morning, when they stepped into the carpeted guest hall.  Draco cast an anxious glance around them, but nothing appeared to be amiss – there was no water, no fans to trip over, and the floor was dry and intact. 

 

“Even ghosts need to sleep sometimes, do they?” Harry grinned beside him, turning to the staircase. “Fake ones, at least.” 

 

“It’s so normal it feels strange,” Draco hummed, raising his wand for a diagnostic. 

 

               The spell came whooshing back from the far end of the corridor, and he gave a satisfied smile.  All safe, everybody alive – which was, at this point, the ideal state of events.  All he could possibly wish for. 

 

“Even the surge didn’t do much, I think – ” he commented lazily, flicking his wand again. 

 

“Er – Draco?” 

 

               Harry’s voice interrupted his sleepy morning sweep with a sudden urgency, and Draco stopped mid-incantation. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“I – I think you spoke too soon,” Harry let out a nervous giggle that was somehow apologetic in its very nature. 

 

               Draco turned around.  Harry was standing at the edge of the landing, unmoving – and, as he approached, Draco realized that it was because there was simply nowhere to go from there.  The rest of the staircase was ripped off.  Some bits hung shakily from the broken ledge, while the rest were piled on the floor beneath. 

 

               He followed their path with his gaze, and his eyes widened. 

 

“Merlin’s grainy marble shit.” 

 

               Beyond, the reception room was in chaos.  It was like before – except worse, so much worse – the floor was torn up in vicious, angry patches, and the remainders of the desk were strewn over it.  The same column that Draco had just fixed a few days ago was now snapped in two – its massive halves collapsed, sprinkled with shattered glass, and crushing everything below them. 

               The wind howled pitifully in the broken window. 

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Harry nodded.  “Ugly, inexplicable, and somehow mystical.” 

 

               Draco snorted. 

 

“I’m fairly certain it’s not that deep,” he said. 

 

“It’s a pain in the arse.” 

 

“Well…” Draco paused, evaluating the damage below for the fifth incredulous time.  He looked at the glistening shards, at the ravaged stone, and sighed.  “Fine, you may have a point.” 

 

“I always do,” Harry told him smugly, pulling out his wand.  “There’s method to my madness.” 

 

“No, there isn’t,” Draco scoffed.  “There’s just madness.  It just accidentally makes sense, from time to time…  On three – hold on, no.  It’s your turn to pick the number.” 

 

“What?” Harry’s eyebrows began to knit together in confusion, but then he grinned with the realization.  “Oooh, you want to count it out, don’t you?  Of course, you drama – ”

 

“Just pick the fucking number, Harry – ” 

 

“Fine.  Fifteen.” 

 

               Draco opened his mouth to count, and closed it with a scowl.  Harry laughed – a bright, bubbling sound that erupted from him and could convince Draco to forgive anything – everything. 

 

“Harry – ” he began, but Harry elbowed him lightly, and he broke off. 

 

“Okay, chill, I’m picking the number.  Thr – no, _four!_ ” 

 

“Original,” Draco smirked, and raised his wand.  “One, two, three – four.” 

 

               To his right, Harry mirrored the motion with his characteristic forcefulness, and immediately, Draco’s ears were assaulted by the cacophony of repair.  The reception room creaked and clanged into place below them. 

 

               The column groaned and lifted itself up, its mammoth halves screeching together.  The glass leaped from the floor, and charged to the window, where it quickly reassembled into the frame.  Vicious stray shards of it zipped through the air. 

 

               Papers rustled; binders flew, and then the last cracks sealed themselves, and the room was quiet once more. 

 

“Do you think we should check the garden?..” Harry asked into this ringing, newborn silence.  “It seems like it’s still an earth day or whatever – ”

 

“Floor torn up and no burn marks anywhere?  Definitely,” Draco agreed. 

 

               Harry paused at the landing, and took a step down.  He rocked back and forth on his heels, testing out the resurrected staircase.  Draco raised an eyebrow, and he grinned back, before looking around.  He stood still for a moment, and then jumped on the spot a few times. 

 

“All good,” Harry pronounced finally. 

 

               Draco made an indignant noise. 

 

“You dare doubt our joint craftsmanship?” 

 

“Draco, it’s _us_.  I doubt everything,” Harry told him, and skipped off down the stairs. 

 

 

 

               Bickering, they made their way to ground level.  The stairs barely creaked under their feet, and the castle’s few inhabitants slept blissfully on, unaware of the destruction that occurred a few steps away.   For one short moment, Draco envied them.  Oh, the joys of _Muffliato_.  Not that it would do much for him – the case still needed solving, so at this point, his body was running primarily on energy potions. 

 

               At least now they had a suspect.  _A thoroughly Muggle suspect_ , an irritating voice muttered in his ear, and Draco wondered if it was possible to glare at your own subconscious.  It needed to shut up.  Often.  It’s not as if he was unaware of the situation. 

 

               Here, at Barebone Castle, Muggle mayhem clashed with immense magical force.  And the worst part was that there weren’t any familiar, Dark spells or potions – magic manifested in the unreliable form of emotional, irrational surges that were nigh impossible to investigate. 

 

“And on top of that, they’re completely unidentified,” Draco muttered to himself. 

 

“Not quite.” 

 

               Draco wheeled around.  Harry was stowing his wand away, having cast a few testing spells on the column – not that it yielded any unprecedented information. 

 

“What?” 

 

               Harry gave an embarrassed shrug, and almost walked into a stand full of tourist leaflets. 

 

“I, uh, I have a theory.  I think I know what they – the storm – what it might be.” 

 

“Care to enlighten me?” Draco demanded.  _How – how did he?.._

 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.  “Well, uh, keep in mind, it’s not exactly solid and probably wrong, but, er – remember that case last year?  The one the Norwegians saddled us with?” 

 

               Draco frowned as they crossed the hall. 

 

“Naturally.  The nutter who…  Oh, fuck.  You’re not saying it’s an Eldritch?..” 

 

               Harry made a face, and he groaned. 

 

“Marvelous.  We barely managed to contain the last one!” 

 

“I know,” Harry said grimly.  “But – but I think the whole point is that you’re not supposed to – ” 

 

“Whatever,” Draco waved him off, and pushed open the front door – rather violently.  “It’s still going to be such a pain…  Life lessons learned or not.” 

 

“Yeah, alright.  Fair point,” Harry admitted, following him into the chilly morning.  “But like, at least we’ve sort of pegged it.” 

 

               Which was also fair, Draco was forced to admit.  But an _Eldritch_ …  The entire concept was as unlikely as it was logical. 

 

“How’d you happen upon this bright idea, anyway?” he asked, waving his wand to repair the shattered paving stones in the yard.  They scraped against each other hoarsely. 

 

“I – I dunno,” Harry shrugged.  “It’s just – it kinda makes sense, with all that’s going on, doesn’t it?  If, if Adam bound an Eldritch, he would never need to do magic himself – ” 

 

“Keeping up with appearances,” Draco nodded his understanding.  “The smaller sabotages may be carried out Muggle, and for the large ones he brings in the beastie.” 

 

“Exactly,” Harry said.  His tone was now becoming excited – he was speaking quickly, and his eyes sparkled with this mad idea.  “And this would explain the scrambled diagnostics, too – Eldritch beings warp other magic, remember?” 

 

               Draco chewed on his lip as they strolled towards the pensive, still sleepy garden. 

 

“It didn’t corrode our shields last time,” he pointed out eventually.  “It almost took your head off, but the shields held – so unless this one’s just that much more powerful – ” 

 

“I think it is,” Harry said quietly.  

 

               _It is.  Well, of course it is,_ Draco thought moodily.  That was pretty much the rule with every one of their cases.  This thing was dangerous as hell –

 

“And we walked straight into its lair,” he groaned.  “I can’t fucking believe this…  That’s its lair, isn’t it?  The Fairy Gate?” 

 

“I guess,” Harry said.  “It’s always coming back there, you know?..  And – and begging for the gorge to take it back…” 

 

               There was a small silence after that.  Draco gazed hopelessly at the slowly brightening sky, which was a splatter of colour beneath the clouds.  They didn’t quite reach the horizon yet.  They would, he knew – the wind was steadily pushing the moisture forward, and soon the world would be grey once more.  Draco wasn’t sure if he was happy about it – but if anything, it suited the mood. 

 

               He wondered if the Eldritch was making the clouds do that. 

 

               Those things were known to affect their surroundings, according to all the limited research into them.  There were floods and gas leaks all over London when the Norwegian convict arrived with an enslaved monster in tow – and Salazar, the nightmarish whispers it left everywhere –

 

“Harry?” Draco asked slowly. 

 

               Harry hopped down from a boulder he’d scaled for no reason. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“The nightmares you’ve been having – you’re saying that this is the Eldritch as well?” 

 

“I think so,” grunted Harry, leaping over a puddle, while Draco walked carefully around it.  “They feel like the rest of it.” 

 

“So the storm is an abomination of cosmic power,” Draco sniffed.  “And – and you’re friends with it.  You’re friends with a fucking _Eldritch_ …” 

 

               Harry let out a laugh. 

 

“Hey, just because it’s an abomination doesn’t mean it can’t have friends,” he said reasonably.  If whatever went on in his brain could be called reason, Draco thought testily.  “Like, I know its methods of communication aren’t ideal, but – ” 

 

“Aren’t ideal?..” Draco scoffed.  “It’s been giving you nightmares, _nightly_!” 

 

“Because that fucker is making it destroy half the castle nightly!” Harry argued.  “You’d fricking scream for help too – ” 

 

               He stopped.  They stumbled to a halt in the middle of the path, just where it nipped into the garden –

 

               Which stood utterly ravaged.  There was no other word for it – the neat little pathways now looked like scars, flowerbeds were disfigured beyond recognition, and the carefully trimmed hedge was broken at every second bush.  It was as if something massive and terrible had clawed at it with more rage than Draco was sure he’d ever felt in his entire life. 

 

               But what lay beyond was even worse, and he clenched his fingers around his wand, feeling himself go rigid with helpless indignation.  A mute, awed horror seized his limbs.  Slightly down the hill from the rest of the once-beautiful garden –

 

               Charlotte’s precious apple grove was torn to shreds.  Almost all of the trees were pulled from the ground and strewn everywhere haphazardly, their roots broken and their branches stripped of their leaves.  Little June apples rolled about on the up-turned soil, slowly beginning to rot, and fury hung in the air above them.  It was like toxic smoke. 

 

“Oh, god,” Harry breathed next to Draco.  His glasses slid to his nose and he pushed them up hurriedly.  “Holy fucking hell.” 

 

“There you go again with the illogical Muggle swearing,” Draco said, mostly for the sake of saying something.  He was still attempting to take in the entire crumbling view.  “By definition, that should not be possible.” 

 

“And this here should not be possible without giant involvement, and _yet_ ,” Harry grunted.  “Damn, I can’t wait until we have Adam under _Petrificus_ …” 

 

“I’ll feed him to a fucking Murtlap when we do,” Draco vowed, staring at the pitiful – murdered – garden. 

 

“As long as I get a punch in first,” Harry echoed him grimly, and kicked a guilty-looking rock. 

 

“Aim for two,” Draco advised. 

 

               He pulled out his wand, and cast a few diagnostic charms.  The air blinked and shimmered at him – dark, angry purples, like a thunderstorm. 

 

“Great,” Harry sighed, and cast another.  “Oh, _absolutely_ great.” 

 

“How’s he controlling this thing, I wonder,” Draco hummed, flicking aside a lump of glowing wisps.  “The spellchain must be extremely durable to contain it – level nine magic, if not more.” 

 

“But it’s still strong enough to reach out,” Harry pointed out, and tried for a grin.  “So if the three of us try to break the bond – I think…  I think we might actually manage it.” 

 

“Naturally,” Draco scoffed.  “With you clawing at it, we’ll have two Eldritch beings ripping at the chain.” 

 

               Harry gave him a confused look. 

 

“What?” 

 

               Draco smirked. 

  
“Well, magically speaking,” he clarified.  “Don’t get me wrong, you are weird, but not completely beyond all human comprehension.  Just powerful as fuck.” 

 

“Oh, so I’ll be doing all the work?” Harry snorted. 

 

“Of course,” Draco drawled, letting his most charming smile unravel on his face.  “It must be quite personal for you, anyhow – you’ve finally met an equal…” 

 

“Met an equal…” Harry mimicked.  “So what?”

 

“So, I’d only get in the way of you two giants, with my measly powers,” Draco explained.  “Might as well let you have fun.” 

 

“Might as well squish you while I’m at it,” Harry grumbled. 

 

               Draco let out a sorrowful sigh, as the tip of his wand blinked blue and went out. 

 

“How cruel can nature be,” he said mournfully.  “How insignificant a human life, so easily _squished_ – in the course of a common Eldritch mating ritual – ”

 

               The wind slithered past, like a stray remainder of a wild, sentient storm.  Harry stared at Draco mutely, his expression that of utmost disgust, and Draco smiled once more – this time with satisfaction.  The broken branches creaked in the garden below them.  Finally, Harry spoke again. 

 

“Ew,” he said.  “I’m not mating with an Eldritch.” 

 

               Draco snickered. 

 

“What, just because it’s an Eldritch, it doesn’t deserve love?” 

 

“I’m like, ninety percent sure that’s bestiality,” Harry groaned, his hand tugging at his hair again.  “And – and anyway, it’s gonna be all chained up – ”

 

“And you’re not into bondage?..” Draco grinned.  “Tell another.” 

 

               Harry groaned even louder, hiding his face in his fingers. 

 

“Oh, my god.  Shut up, Draco.” 

 

“All I’m saying – ” Draco began, but Harry was shaking his head categorically.  Little sparks of magic darted out of the way as his hair flapped about. 

 

“No, no, no,” he told him.  “I don’t wanna hear any more theories about my own sex life.  Shut up.” 

 

               Draco hummed. 

 

“Was I too on the nose?” 

 

               Harry inhaled with exasperation – loudly enough for the sigh to have been a reply in its own right. 

 

“Draco – ”

 

“Alright, I’m shutting up,” Draco pacified him, and turned his attention back to study the garden.  “Do you want to handle the Obliviations this time, or?..” 

 

               Harry frowned. 

 

“What Obliviations?” he asked, finally lowering his hands from his face, which still bore the remnants of an embarrassed flush.  His wand stuck awkwardly between his fingers.  “Wait, shit, is there someone – ” 

 

“No,” Draco sighed.  “But there will be eventually, and it’ll take a falsified hurricane to make this damage Muggle-worthy…” 

 

“Aren’t we going to fix it?” 

 

               Draco chewed on his lip, staring into fake hurricane land – and then the surprised question sunk in, and he blinked. 

 

               He shifted around, and looked at Harry, his sense of incredulity steadily growing.  He could practically feel the destruction behind him – and he knew it was beyond all saving.  It couldn’t be fixed, not when such ferocity lay underneath every blade of grass. 

 

“Draco?” 

 

               Harry was looking at him with an innocent brightness in his expression, and Draco couldn’t bring himself to ruin it just yet. 

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked instead. 

 

“Uh – the garden,” Harry shrugged, as if pointing out the obviousness of the whole situation.  “We’ll just fix it, right?” 

 

               The broken apple trees creaked in the wind.  Draco stared back at Harry, confusion stirring his brains – lazily, like a broth of guilt seasoned with Harry’s imminent disappointment. 

 

“Harry, you can’t bring things back from the dead,” he said slowly. 

 

               The world was quiet, like an empty city – deserted after a catastrophe.  Harry blinked at Draco blankly for a few moments, during which he regretted ever uttering the words. 

 

               Then Harry grinned, and stowed his wand away.  He held his hand out in front of him, palm facing the sky. 

 

“I know,” he said. 

 

“Then what are you – ”  Draco broke off, because sparks of silver flickered over Harry’s empty fingers.  “Don’t!  Remember the last time – ” 

 

               Harry snorted. 

 

“Duh,” he said.  “Don’t worry, I’ve figured this thing out.  We’re friends now.  See?” 

 

               He flexed his palm, and the magic danced – just above it, not quite touching the skin, which was already rough from little burns and callouses.  The sparks flocked together, like nervous birds, meek and perfectly obedient.  Harmless. 

 

               Harry was smiling, and Draco felt like giving in. 

 

“What are you going to do?” he asked. 

 

“Fix this,” Harry said. 

 

“Shouldn’t that be impossible?” 

 

               Merlin, why was trust so difficult to put together?..  He wanted to believe that Harry could save anything – except he knew that Harry couldn’t, and the place was irreversibly dead –

 

“It’s not,” Harry shook his head.  “You see, this garden – it’s, it’s hurt, and it’s dying – but it’s not dead yet.” 

 

               He rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, letting the sparks tiptoe over to his forearms, and let out a little laugh – the magic must’ve tickled as it fizzled there, tracing his skin.  It flickered and pulsed, turning gradually gold, like the beams of sunrise that dappled the valley. 

 

               Harry grinned at that, before letting a focused intensity take over his face.  Turning his arm over, he let the magic flow back down into his palm, holding it there, a bubbling pool of liquid light.  He poured it into his other hand, pausing – just at the edge of the path, where it slipped from the hill.  The light whispered as it ran down, and Draco couldn’t be certain if he was imagining this or not. 

 

               His eyes met Harry’s, and Harry smiled. 

 

“Will you watch?..” he asked, softly.  There was a quiet uncertainty in his voice, and at that moment, Draco would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth. 

 

“Yes,” he said, and Harry’s smile was brighter than the magic in his hands. 

 

               Harry lifted his hands a little, and the light leaped eagerly in his palms as he took the first tentative step into the valley.  The gravel scratched underneath his feet, but the sound was growing duller as he walked slowly down the hill – it was as if the magic was drowning it out. 

 

               He glanced back, and Draco took it as a cue to follow, hurrying after him.  There was a tension in the air, breathing in every gust of wind, and all of it seemed excited with something he couldn’t see. 

 

“Careful now,” Harry instructed, and Draco cast a worried look around. 

 

“What’s going – ” he began –

 

               Realizing that he couldn’t hear his own voice. 

 

               He trailed off.  Speaking was pointless anyway.  Slightly ahead, Harry was muttering something to himself, and that was the only sound in the entire garden.  The wind had died, and their footsteps fell completely silent among the uprooted flowers. 

 

               Harry stretched his left hand out at his side – just slightly, in a graceful movement that seemed almost dance-like.  The sparks flooded to his fingers, all piling together at the fingertips and buzzing with life.  Carefully, he gave his hand a little upward flick –

 

               And immediately, the garden sprang into movement. 

 

               It was unlike anything Draco had ever seen.  Everything around him was shifting, moving – almost dancing as the small golden sparks lifted off Harry’s fingers, multiplying until they formed a flickering, glowing swarm.  And they – they were bringing the garden back to life. 

 

               The broken branches lifted off the ground, and flew back to their hedges, which twisted and fluffed up as the magic landed on the leaves.  Flowers darted across the ground, gaining colour, and the dirt shuffled over, arranging itself into neat little flowerbeds.  It was beautiful, impossible, and absolutely mad – just like Harry, who was walking resolutely on. 

 

               He seemed to be an undeniable, natural part of it all – the magic was lifting off his fingers, shining and streaming into the air as he went deeper and deeper into the garden.  Everything creaked and rustled around him, and Draco could only follow, ducking out of the way as the commotion continued. 

 

“We’re almost at the apple grove,” Harry said softly.   

 

“Okay,” Draco mouthed soundlessly.  Somehow, he knew that this was only the beginning.

 

               Harry grinned back. 

 

               He stepped into the apple grove, which stood quiet and unresponsive as he walked by the broken trees – it was as if he was holding his magic back.  Slowly, softly, he reached the centre of it, where a flat clearing was scarred with upturned soil, and stopped. 

 

“Draco?” he called. 

 

“What?” Draco tried, but his voice was still gone. 

 

               Harry smiled. 

 

“Watch this,” he said, and brought his fingertips together in front of his chest – with one, powerful motion. 

 

               A pang ran through the entire garden, echoing – like a deep, ancient bell ringing after centuries of silence.  It was explosive, forceful – and little golden sparks erupted everywhere, darting off to the far ends of the little gravel paths. 

 

               The garden was waking up, lush and full of life, and the apple grove was beginning to stir around them.  Draco stepped sideways to avoid a large, broken branch – which was shaking off the onset of desiccation even as it flew back to its tree.  Soil slithered along the ground, looping around Draco’s feet.  It was coming back, everything was coming back… 

 

               Harry was standing in the epicentre of it all.  His entire figure seemed to glow with the magic, and the strange restoration spells swirled around him, like a hurricane, but the kind that healed things instead of tearing them apart. 

 

               It was impossible, Draco thought – dream-like –

 

               And so intensely hopeful. 

 

               The garden was waking up – because no matter how broken it was, it could still be fixed.  The thing that clawed at its flowers didn’t have any say in that.  Magic was rushing through the air, and the garden was waking up. 

 

               _Because there’s hope,_ Draco thought with a twist in his heart.  _There’s always hope, as long as you’re still alive…_

 

               The magic was accumulating in the trees, which rose from the ground in even rows, just as they did before.  Golden fire reached higher and higher as it flowed up the thinning branches, until the leaves all shone with a fantastical luminescence – and they all seemed to be excited, as if they were waiting for something to happen. 

 

               And then it did.  In this humming silence –   

 

               Harry laughed.  He laughed – happily, lightly – and threw his hands apart. 

 

               As soon as he did that, the sparks all exploded in one massive blast of radiance, rushing down and into the ground.  The light dulled a little, though Harry himself still glowed with the magic – but the rest of it was dissipating, like gilded fog.  The bark on the apple trees was turning brown again. 

 

               Slowly, the garden was returning to normality. 

 

               Harry lowered his hands gradually.  The mad, boundless power was diffusing out of his body, and his nervous fingers started twisting at the hem of his shirt as he stood there, in the middle of the revived apple grove, looking at Draco with a strange vulnerability in his face. 

 

“Draco,” he said softly. 

 

“Still here,” Draco acknowledged – his voice sounded like a cannon after these few minutes of its absence, and he tried not to flinch at it. 

 

               Harry was still looking at him, after all. 

 

“That…  That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked now, flashing Draco a tentative grin. 

 

“It was magnificent,” Draco said.  He didn’t know if there was any other word to describe it. 

 

               Harry flushed. 

 

“Oh.  Uh, thanks,” he chuckled – the sound was a little awkward, but his smile widened nonetheless as he slapped his leg. “Damn, it’s not often I get to impress your snooty face – I should mark the date – ” 

 

“Shut up,” Draco sighed. 

 

               Maybe the magic was still clouding his brain, because it was full of emotions he couldn’t possibly justify – or maybe too much just happened and he was overloading – or maybe _something._   All Draco knew was that he couldn’t just stand there any longer. 

 

               His movements were almost compulsive.  Striding swiftly across the clearing, he stopped at its centre, right in front of Harry, who was wearing a confused expression. 

 

“What’re you – ” Harry began, and broke off.  “Oh.”    

 

               He broke off then, because Draco pulled him into the tightest hug he’d ever initiated himself.  And Draco…  Draco wasn’t even sure why he did it exactly.  After a few seconds, he gave up thinking about that – and just pressed his nose gently into Harry’s tangled hair, breathing in the scent, and feeling every bit inside him flutter, simply because Harry was resting his head on his shoulder. 

 

               Mad, wild Harry trusted him enough to relax completely in his arms, and it was beautiful.  His fingers were clutching at Draco’s shirt, and Draco’s heart raced at that – Harry was holding him, too.  Harry wanted him to stay close. 

 

               Harry shifted a little, and let his cheek press into the crook of Draco’s neck. 

 

“What’s this…  What’s this for?” he asked.  His voice was unsure and halting.  “What’d I do?” 

 

               Draco laughed quietly. 

 

“Nothing,” he said.    

 

“Oh.” 

 

               Harry was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke again. 

 

“Are you – is everything fine?” 

 

“Yes,” Draco sighed.  “Everything is perfect.  I’m just a fucking idiot, that’s all…  Don’t mind it.” 

 

“Alright,” Harry gave a little shrug against him, and Draco felt him relax once more. 

 

               Harry smelled of fresh-turned dirt, and the stray little sparks of his magic still tingled on his skin.  At another time, Draco would’ve been afraid they’d singe him – but now he was sure they wouldn’t hurt at all.  It wasn’t evil magic, anyhow.  It was just Harry. 

 

               Draco’s fingers snagged on something weird in Harry’s hair, and he pulled it out.  It was a twig – probably from one of the apple trees, lost in repair. 

 

               He tossed it, and watched it flit away.  Everything was so utterly tranquil – and Harry was there with him.  They weren’t even rocking, or moving at all.  They were just standing there together, almost completely still, and Draco wished it would never end.  Ever. 

 

               The sun had risen by now, and the garden was filled with its dawning warmth.  It tangled with the dying wisps of the morning chill, it was perfect –

 

“Ugh,” a chipper voice broke through their peace, and they jerked apart.  “You lovebirds are giving me diabetes.” 

 

 

 

               Draco felt Harry’s angry magic crackling around them as Adam stepped out from behind a tree. 

 

“Or as they used to say, good morning,” he said coolly. 

 

               His hand found Harry’s and gave it a little squeeze.  _Don’t lose control.  Not yet_. 

 

“Great morning,” Adam agreed readily.  “Why’re you two standing in a flowerbed?” 

 

“What?” Draco frowned, and looked down. 

 

               A wave of embarrassment rushed to his cheeks. 

 

               The patch of torn soil they’d previously assumed was normal ground turned out to be a large flowerbed.  It had been mutilated beyond recognition, and was the last thing to grow back – now flourishing around him and Harry as they stood there together, planted smack in the middle of it. 

 

“We’re – we’re in a flowerbed,” Harry confirmed awkwardly. 

 

“Oh, Mer – Jesus.  I apologize most sincerely,” Draco sighed.  He smiled apologetically and tried to relax, picturing all the ways he could legally make Adam’s impending arrest more painful. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Adam laughed, flipping his small trowel in his hand.  “I’m not judging, it’s romantic and all – but you gotta get out of there now.” 

 

“Of course,” Harry nodded, squeezing Draco’s fingers. 

 

               Draco squeezed back, and almost died at the implication. 

 

“Great…  And, ooh, ah, don’t break any flowers,” Adam added.  “Charlotte would have my hide.” 

 

               She will once I tell her you broke the birthday ones, Draco thought venomously.  In fact, he hoped Charlotte would skin Adam alive with his own fucking trowel. 

 

“Certainly,” he said aloud, smiling. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“I hate him,” Harry declared loudly, and practically flung his next charm at the wall.  The wall quivered fearfully in response, and he continued.  “Yeah, and I hate his entire façade, too!” 

 

               Draco hummed. 

 

“Fair,” he agreed.  “It’s fucking irritating.” 

 

“Fakest guy I’ve ever met,” Harry growled, and poked the terrified wall again. 

 

               They were strolling through the drafty corridors of Barebone Castle, methodically fireproofing every potentially flammable area.  Behind them, the spells already hugged every surface, like Muggle plastic wrap – and yet the paranoid patch at the back of Draco’s mind was still convinced it wasn’t enough. 

 

               He prodded a suspicious-looking stone with the tip of his wand, and another layer of protective charms grew over the wall.  The corners were beginning to look like cobwebs. 

 

“And, like, did you _hear_ him?..” Harry exclaimed next to him, and Draco glanced over at him. 

 

“What?” 

 

“What – the, the _don’t break any flowers_ ,” Harry mimicked angrily.  “Like he didn’t just destroy the entire fucking garden with a bloody Eldritch…” 

 

               Draco slid his wand over the arching inside of a doorway.  He bit his lip – there were doubts screeching in his head.  As much as Harry’s theory was sound, there were still –

 

               He paused, thinking of a word, and wound another web of spells around his wand.    

 

               _Inconsistencies,_ he decided triumphantly.  Fucking tiny, insignificant, and therefore all the more annoying inconsistencies, and his mind just couldn’t let go of them.  The theory explained everything – it made sense from every angle – and yet there was something missing, he was sure of it. 

 

“Fucking _Adam_ ,” Harry muttered to himself, slightly up ahead, and Draco smiled. 

 

               The Eldritch did look like the solution to their entire case.  Except if it was the cause of the surges, they’d be looking at centuries’ worth of documentation – and Adam only showed up a few months ago – but he hadn’t performed any magic in years – but the Eldritch was too human –

 

               There it was, the strangest term of the equation, Draco thought grimly.  The whole idea of Eldritch beings was that they could not be understood by humans, simply because they lived by other laws entirely.  Harry did get along with the last one – but it wasn’t friendship in the normal sense. 

 

               Not like it was happening now. 

 

               Though who knew what friendship felt like to an Eldritch…  Draco thought about asking for more details, but decided against it. 

 

“Do you think your Eldritch pal will be satisfied with formal punishment, or will it want to add a few punches?” he called out instead. 

 

“Wha – ?” Harry’s voice came sailing from behind the corner.  “Oh, uh, I dunno.  Maybe.” 

 

“Would you let it?”

 

               Harry reappeared with a frown.  His wand was glowing red. 

 

“Yeah,” he said firmly, almost with a challenge.  “I would.  And then you’d write a report detailing why exactly it was an accident.” 

 

               Well then. 

 

“You haven’t even committed this oversight yet, and I’m already incriminated,” Draco sighed. 

 

“We’re partners,” Harry reminded him with a smirk.  “You were incriminated from day one.” 

 

“If I only knew what I was signing up for,” Draco nodded sadly.  “Ah, whatever.  No need to cry over a spilled potion.” 

 

               Harry squinted at him for a second. 

 

“Would you actually write it like that?” he asked. 

 

“I suppose so,” Draco admitted.  “The guy is a dick.  He’d deserve it.” 

 

               Harry grinned. 

 

“What would I do without you?..” he hummed gratefully, and put a little less aggression in his next wand movement. 

 

               That corridor soon ended.  With a critical glance behind him, Draco pushed open a door, revealing a narrow, twisting staircase.  Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the chipped steps of grey stone as they followed them down into a spacious hall – where the gloomy day streamed in from the windows.  The glass glinted dully in the rising arches, which almost reached the ceiling. 

 

               The clouds did indeed reach the far-off mountain range – and now it seemed as if they covered the whole world in their uniform haze. 

 

               Draco frowned at them.  There was a certain beauty in this, he supposed, tracing the landscape with his gaze.  The shadowy outlines of the fading cliffs stood both ethereal and powerful in the milky distance, and it felt like an odd, slightly forgotten dream – but they were cold. 

 

“This is such a _strange_ place,” he mused aloud.  “What do you think that unicorn is doing right now?” 

 

“Beauty?” Harry glanced back at him, and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Probably bumping into things and grazing…  Do unicorns graze?” 

 

“They’re horses,” Draco snorted.  “Of course, they graze.” 

 

“Look, how would I know?” Harry said defensively.  “I’ve never seen them do that, have I?” 

 

               He raised his wand, and sticky pale strings erupted from the tip.  They collided with the ceiling, and darted into different directions, like a massive spider’s web – before the spaces between them filled with a transparent film. 

 

               The spell melted into the stone. 

 

“Well, at least there are _some_ things you’re good at,” Draco scoffed appreciatively.  “Seriously, do you remember anything from the research you did for that potions ring case?” 

 

“Nah,” Harry admitted honestly.  “Not really.” 

 

               Draco sighed. 

 

“How?” he asked.  “Just…  How do you do that?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged.  “I just – there’s more important stuff to remember, you know?  So I kinda, just forget the rest.” 

 

“He just forgets the rest,” Draco told an ugly vase, shaking his head.  “You’re a mess, Harry.  I don’t know what Credence sees in you.” 

 

“Maybe he just doesn’t feel that compulsion to criticize everything he sees…  Like you do.” 

 

               Harry gave him a pointed look, and Draco glared back. 

 

“Oh, so it’s a match made in heaven, then,” he sneered.  “Blind to all evil, the world’s two most oblivious people, are you?” 

 

“I’m not completely oblivious,” Harry said solemnly.  “I notice things.” 

 

               Then, as if to provide a vivid illustration of this statement, he walked straight into the ugly fan that stood near the windows.  He was still wearing that grin, so Draco was sure he’d done it on purpose.  To cheer him up, or some other noble goal like that.  It was stupid.   

 

“I see,” Draco said rather smugly, anyway.  “You absolutely notice everything around you.” 

 

“ _Everything?_..  Ew, no,” Harry gasped, and let out a snicker.  “I notice other stuff – ” 

 

“Such as?” 

 

               Harry paused before replying. 

 

“Such as, you took that criticizing thing a bit too seriously,” he said finally.  “I, uh, I meant – it’s just something you do – ” 

 

“You didn’t sound happy about it,” Draco huffed. 

 

“Yeah, well, I can’t talk properly for shit,” Harry chuckled.  “Remember?” 

 

               Oh, so what?..  Of course, he took it seriously.  It was just – he was annoying.  He knew that.  And he thought Harry was fine with that – but now, for a moment, it seemed that he wasn’t, and that was enough to jumpstart some intricate panic response –

 

               Draco was silent as he layered the fireproofing carefully over the carved wooden windowsills.  They were coated already with a thin gauze of dust, and he forced the spells down, underneath it. 

 

“Come oon,” Harry insisted, sidling up next to him, and bumping lightly against his side.  “Stop pouting.  What’re you even pouting about?..” 

 

               And just like that, Draco couldn’t stay angry anymore.  It was too difficult, especially when he didn’t really want to – and especially when he didn’t have a reason to be so in the first place.  A smile was tugging at his cheeks, and he turned around to let Harry see it. 

 

“Oh, you know,” he drawled.  “Just disappointed that I won’t be able to witness a historic event anymore, now that the Eldritch mating plans got cancelled…” 

 

“Merlin,” Harry groaned.  “I shouldn’t have asked – ” 

 

“It would be such a wonderful step in my career,” Draco sighed dreamily.  “To be the first wizard to ever record a hot, steamy – ”

 

“Shut up,” Harry told him, but he couldn’t help laughing. 

 

               A summertime lightness flitted around them, and the weight that had threatened to settle over the room was gone – gone like the last wisps of sunrise.  There was a wonderful, soaring feeling in Draco’s heart, and it skipped a beat when Harry looked at him, and burst out laughing again. 

 

“You don’t understand, Harry,” Draco insisted, grinning.  “Humanity doesn’t have any idea how the physics of it would even work…” 

 

“Shut up,” Harry wheezed.  

 

“I could,” Draco agreed.  “But should I?..” 

 

“Yes – ”

 

“The public should know the truth about their Saviour!” 

 

“Oh my god, Draco,” Harry wheezed.  “I’m not mating with an Eldritch, and that’s final.  I don’t care what the _Prophet_ says.” 

 

               Draco cast a final cover over the room, and strode to the door with a firm sense of fulfilled duty.  Harry hurried behind, flicking a few diagnostics at the threshold – mostly as an afterthought. 

 

“Do you think the press might at least…  Snag an interview with the one who derailed the whole affair?” Draco asked pensively when he caught up with him. 

 

               Harry made a confused face. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Well,” Draco stretched before launching into another series of spells.  “It’s either an interview, or the Chosen One’s chosen remains conveniently Untraceable…” 

 

“Ugh, are you still on about the Eldritch thing?..” Harry complained.  “And seriously, Draco, Chosen One’s chosen?  How do you even come up with this stuff?” 

 

“It’s a gift,” Draco told him. 

 

               Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh. 

 

“Who’re you even talking about?” he asked. 

 

“The owner of this castle,” Draco said, and poked a wall with his wand.  “Never thought you’d marry rich, you keep surprising me – ” 

 

“It’s a gift,” Harry deadpanned, and laughed tiredly.  “And Credence is a friend.” 

 

“An awfully close friend,” Draco hummed. 

 

“Yeah, and that’s it,” Harry sighed.  “We’re friends.” 

 

“Uhuh. Right.” 

 

“Yes, right!” Harry told him, his wand movements increasing their speed again.  Then he paused between spells, and oddly deflated.  “And anyway, people don’t – they don’t generally like me that way.”    

 

               Draco frowned.  Identical doors slid by as they walked towards the guest halls. 

 

“What?” he asked finally.  “Of course, they like you.” 

 

               Harry gave an embarrassed chuckle. 

 

“No, they don’t.  Well, unless they’re some crazed, fanatical nutjobs,” he said.   

 

“You’re saying I’m a nutjob?” Draco scoffed – and immediately, an icy grip settled around his ribs.  Oh, Merlin.  Merlin, no. 

 

               The words were out before he could stop them, how could he not _stop them_ –

 

“Oh, you’re definitely crazy,” Harry grinned at him.  “But I meant – like me, as in, romantically.  Which you don’t – ”   

 

               He could go back, Draco thought.  It would be easy, just a nonchalant confirmation – but he didn’t want to do it.  He should never have said a word.  Now he wanted to tell Harry everything, because there was no chance he’d ever bring up the topic again –

 

               And fuck, why was everything inside him churning?..

 

“And what if I did?” he blurted. 

 

“What?” 

 

               Harry had stopped, looking at him with confusion, and Draco tried in vain to summon his usual anger, or any defensiveness at all – but instead, he felt it all die.  He was down before he could even fight. 

 

“What if I did?” he asked weakly instead.  “If I – if I – ” 

 

               Draco couldn’t say anything.  He couldn’t – and Harry, Harry deserved so much more – not a _coward_ like the one Draco’s always been.  A fucking coward… 

 

“I – ” he choked out – and broke off again, his eyes locked helplessly with Harry’s, and his voice dead. 

 

               He couldn’t say it – it was so simple, and he couldn’t fucking say it.   

 

               Harry stepped closer – carefully, as if he was approaching a sleeping storm.  He wouldn’t look away, and Draco felt like he was going to die under his gaze – even though his eyes were soft, they were so soft – they were wide and vulnerable with an emotion Draco couldn’t understand. 

 

               They burned into him, like living emeralds. 

 

               Harry was close – so close!  His hand twitched, as if he was going to touch Draco’s – but then it remained still.  And he was looking at Draco – he was staring into his face like he’d never seen it before.  Slowly, a frown of confusion took over his expression. 

 

“Draco – ”

 

               Draco ran. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

               The door slammed shut behind him.  He was breathing heavily, and his chest ached – but the room around him was quiet and uncaring.  He exhaled.  Of course. 

 

               With barely a glance at the dreary day outside, Draco walked over to the bed, and slumped down.  A heavy lump of despair had settled in his stomach, and he didn’t think it would ever go away.  His shoulders felt like something was pressing down onto them, crushing him – and at this point, he didn’t really care. 

 

               He stared down at his hands.  Everything in this room was a reminder of the way he’d just made a fool of himself – it was _their_ room, for Merlin’s sake… 

 

               Except now Harry was gone. 

 

               Draco clenched his jaw.  He wasn’t a broken-hearted first-year anymore.  If Harry didn’t want to have anything to do with him after this, it was fine.  It’s not like he was going to fucking _cry_ about it –

 

               A tentative knock broke into the silence, and he started. 

 

“Draco?..  Are you – are you in there?” Harry’s voice asked through the door. 

 

               A bolt of panic went through Draco.  His fingers clenched at the edge of the bed.  He closed his eyes, and prayed that Harry would give up, and go away.  

 

“Draco?  Can I come in?..” 

 

               Draco let out a bitter laugh. 

 

“You can do whatever the fuck you wish, Harry.  It’s your room, too.” 

 

               The door creaked behind him.  He heard Harry step into the room, and went stiff, squeezing his eyes shut.  He didn’t want to look at him – and there was something in his eye he couldn’t get rid of. 

 

“Draco…” Harry began, and it was exactly what he’d dreaded.  “About what you – ” 

 

“Don’t say anything,” Draco snapped.  “Just pretend that everything is fine, okay?” 

 

“What – ” 

 

“Shut up, alright?  Nothing happened.  I didn’t say anything.” 

 

“But – ” Harry started again, and Draco couldn’t fucking bear it. 

 

“Harry, please!” he burst out, and felt the last drops of energy leave him with it.  It was over, anyhow – and his voice grew quieter as he fought the urge to simply drop down onto the bed and lose consciousness.  “Just…  Please, just act like – like everything is okay…” 

 

               Harry was silent. 

 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked finally. 

 

“I – I don’t know,” Draco mumbled, and he hated how weak it sounded.  “Talk about something normal – the case.  Talk about the case.” 

 

“I can’t,” Harry said.  “I – I won’t sound normal.” 

 

“Do you ever?” Draco sneered back.  His nails were leaving little crescents carved into the palms of his hands, and he hated them, too. 

 

               He wished Harry would leave.  He wished he could keep Harry here forever.  He wished he’d never said a single fucking word. 

 

“Would it be better if we didn’t talk at all?” Harry said quietly, and something dropped inside Draco. 

 

               He should have expected that.  That was the way his life worked, after all. 

 

               And this time, he didn’t even have a right to complain.  He ruined it all himself, just like he did with everything good that ever happened to him.  It was Harry – how could he ever hope for anything?  He felt so ridiculous.  It was dumb to even think about something like that.  It was _Harry_ … 

              

“Yes,” he said, with a tremendous effort to keep his voice even.  His throat was tight, and he had to squeeze the words out.  “You’re right.  I – I suppose it would be better if we didn’t.” 

 

               It would be better.  Difficult, unbearable, but better for the both of them, he knew that.  After this case was over, he could put in a request for a new partner –

 

               Draco’s breath hitched.  The bed creaked next to him, sinking as Harry sat down carefully – their sides were almost touching.  He could feel the warmth radiating off Harry’s body, and it cleaved his heart in two.  Just a few minutes ago, he could’ve shifted closer.  He could’ve hugged Harry, if he wanted to – how could he throw all that away?.. 

 

               He sat rigidly, every muscle tight – and it hurt more than he’d ever imagined it would.  Not that he cared!  Draco clenched his teeth together.  He _wouldn’t_ – he didn’t do that anymore –

 

               He was digging his nails into his skin, when Harry’s hand caught his fingers. 

 

               Draco breathed in sharply.  He flinched, and tried to force himself to jerk his hand back, but even this simple touch was enough to render him completely helpless.  He didn’t dare move for the fear that Harry would take it away. 

 

               His fingers were still stiff as they dug into his right hand – but Harry ran his own over them, stroking them gently until they loosened, shaking.  Then he took Draco’s hand in both of his, cradling it – and guiding it slowly over to his lap, where he held it – silently. 

 

               His thumb brushed over Draco’s knuckles, like a caress.  And Draco couldn’t take his hand away, even though his brain was screaming at him to do it.  It felt as if he was starved for this exact type of affection.  He couldn’t move, because Harry was holding his hand – his grip barely there. 

 

“What…  What are you doing?” he whispered. 

 

               Harry shrugged. 

 

“Not talking,” he said softly. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

               Harry’s hand lifted from where it was covering Draco’s – and Draco thought it was over – except it wasn’t, he realized, as he felt Harry touch his face.  His fingers brushed away Draco’s hair, and paused before moving again. 

 

“Is this – is this okay?” Harry asked, and his voice was barely louder than the rain that had started pattering away at the window. 

 

               Going against his every instinct, Draco gave a small, jerky nod.  His body was almost limp when he leaned into the touch.  There was something prickling at his eyes as he stared at his hand – marked with reddened indents from his own nails, and resting in Harry’s lap.  Powerless. 

 

               Harry’s hand slipped to the back of his head, stroking his hair – in a slow, repetitive motion – and Draco felt himself giving in.  It was as if he was left without a force of will.  He was twisting around, and pitching forward, so that his forehead bumped against Harry’s shoulder. 

 

               There was a lump in his throat, and it seemed to grow thicker with Harry’s every touch. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled croakily.  “I – I didn’t mean to fuck it up – ” 

 

               He swallowed the rest of the sentence.  It was pointless anyway – and a pang went through him at the thought.  He wasn’t shaking – his shoulders were too tight for that – he wasn’t going to let himself be even more stupid –

 

               A little whine broke from his throat, and he choked it down. 

 

“Draco – Draco, hey.” 

 

               Harry shifted beside him, pulling away slightly.  His hand moved to cup Draco’s face – until he had to look up. 

 

“It’s alright,” Harry murmured.  “You didn’t ruin anything.” 

 

               He leaned closer, and their foreheads touched.  Tears stung Draco’s eyes, and he was sniffling – but Harry was still there for some reason.  And Draco couldn’t push him away. 

 

               His fingers were clutching at Harry’s. 

 

“Don’t let go of me,” he heard himself say.  His voice was shaking.  “Please.” 

 

“I won’t.” 

 

               They were so close that he could feel Harry’s breaths on his skin.  He was crying, he was pathetic, but Harry was still there… 

 

               Draco shifted, and Harry looked up. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“It’s nothing,” Draco whispered.  It was nothing. 

 

               He tilted his head a little.  Harry was looking at him – their faces inches apart, so that Draco could see the little dots on his nose.  They were almost touching. 

 

               Hesitating and pausing at every bit of the way, Draco closed the small distance that was left. 

 

               The kiss was feather-light – he wouldn’t dare for anything more, even though all he wanted was to draw it out, while he still could.  He was trying to be tender – he knew he was too awkward for that – but he poured what little gentleness he had into his touch as he brushed his lips against Harry’s. 

 

               Harry was completely still, and his lips only moved once or twice against Draco’s – but his breaths came in shallow gasps when Draco pulled away.  His eyes were locked on Draco’s face, and they were just a bit too bright behind the glasses. 

 

               His breathing slowed as he looked at Draco, and he swallowed. 

 

“Can I kiss you back?” he whispered, and it felt like his voice snapped a spring inside Draco’s chest. 

 

               Draco could barely understand the words – and he couldn’t speak, he only managed a tight nod – but that was enough. 

 

               Harry surged forward.  His hands both went up, holding Draco’s face, and pulling him in – and then their lips met, and it was electric. 

 

               Harry kissed with more passion than Draco could ever imagine he would.  His every touch only drove him closer, until their bodies were flush together – he kissed like there was a storm under his skin – and Draco found himself replying, just the way he wished. 

 

               It was as if every shred of his longing and every little daydream fell together in this roaring moment.  He kissed Harry’s lips over and over – his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair – and his breathing was coming in bursts, but he didn’t care.  Harry was kissing him back, it was the only thing that mattered – his lips were warm, and wet, and a little bit chapped, and Draco thought that he would die if he stopped. 

 

               Harry pulled back a little to regain his breath, but he stayed close.  His forehead rested against Draco’s, and his eyes were closed as he smiled – that beautiful smile that always made Draco’s heart flutter.  And this time – this time it was because of _him_ … 

 

               It sent Draco’s head reeling. 

 

               Harry’s fingertips were still resting, butterfly-like, on Draco’s cheek – and he turned his head to lean into the touch.  They brushed against his skin, and he caught them with his hand, gently, before pressing a little kiss to every single one. 

 

               Harry opened his eyes, and smiled again – and Draco felt something welling up inside him, singing – it was a wild, burning affection, and it was bursting out, as if it had a life of its own – except he was afraid, he was still afraid to say it –

 

               He was still such a coward –

 

“I love you,” Harry breathed.  “Draco, I love you…” 

 

               His voice was nervous, and it shook a little – and for a moment, Draco could barely feel the room around him. 

 

“Y-you…” he stumbled over the words, and tried to gather them back together, hopelessly – except then he didn’t need to. 

 

               Draco couldn’t speak, he could barely move, because Harry was kissing him again – intently, fervently – like their lives depended on it. 

 

               And it took his breath away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
>  
> 
> TAA DAAAAAA
> 
> *insert that gif of a dude throwing rose petals at a sleeping couple* 
> 
> Kudos appreciated, and please please please leave comments! =) 
> 
>  
> 
> That said, the emotional rollercoaster isn't over. Hoo boy.


	9. Chapter 9

 

                Harry smiled to himself, as he stared at the ornamented wall on the other side of the room.  It hid a secret passage, he knew – it could be opened by turning and pulling on the door-handle that was hidden behind one of the carved wooden gargoyles.  Beautiful, terrifying, and tantalizing at the same time… 

 

                It didn’t matter right now, though.  Nothing did, except for the fact that Draco’s face was buried in his chest as they lay together on the bed – the checkered quilt thrown loosely over their legs. 

 

                Frankly, he kept thinking that it was a dream.  He’d close his eyes – half-expecting to wake up any minute – but then the light pressure of Draco’s head would still be there, and Draco’s soft breaths, which had finally slowed, still warmed his skin, and his fingers were still running over Draco’s hair.  It even tickled his palm a little. 

 

“This…  This is real, right?” he questioned into the chilly air. 

 

                Should’ve closed the window.  He wasn’t about to get up now. 

 

“No,” Draco mumbled into his shirt.  “It’s all a hallucination induced by your proximity to an Eldritch being.  You’re about to wake up in St. Mungo’s.” 

 

“Ha, ha.” 

 

“Shut up, Harry.” 

 

                Harry grinned, and opened his eyes.  The room had gotten dimmer during the time they were there – even though the rain had passed.  The day remained dark, and yet he felt lighter than ever as Draco lifted his head to give him a half-assed glower.  

 

“Oh, now I definitely know it’s real,” Harry chuckled. 

 

“No shit,” Draco grunted, settling down against him again. 

 

“Pity, that,” Harry sighed.  “Would’ve been the best hallucination I’ve ever had.” 

 

                He kissed the top of Draco’s head, and Draco let out a small, satisfied sound – before snuggling closer to him.  He was rather like a long, pale snake cat, Harry decided.  If snake cats were even a thing.  Or was it sphinx cats?.. 

 

                Who knew. 

 

“Do you think ferrets are basically snake cats?” Harry asked, glancing down. 

 

                He felt Draco frown. 

 

“What the fuck, Harry?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted.  “My thought process is weird.” 

 

“Just your thought process?..” Draco snorted, and Harry sighed, giving his hair a light tug. 

 

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he said.  “Though to be fair, yeah, everything else is weird too.” 

 

                Draco bumped his head into Harry’s chest.  

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say _everything_ ,” he said.  “Maybe your tea addiction.” 

 

                Harry laughed quietly, and let his head fall back against the headboard. 

 

“Yeah, that…  And my entire life story,” he added thoughtfully.  “My scars.  My hair.  My boyfriend…” 

 

                He trailed off, gazing through the still-open window.  Behind it, the wind was drifting past – rather sleepily – and suddenly Harry realized that he shouldn’t be able to hear it, unless there was a complete silence in the room. 

 

                Then Draco shifted, and the bed creaked as he lifted himself up a little, blinking at Harry. 

 

“What did you say?”

 

                Harry immediately felt a bit sheepish. 

 

“Er – that you’re my…  I mean, we are now, right?” he asked nervously.  “Since – since we, uh – ” 

 

“Harry.  It’s alright.  You don’t need to talk.” 

 

“Oh.  Okay,” Harry exhaled with relief, and chuckled awkwardly.  “We – we are, though – aren’t we?..” 

 

                Draco leaned in, and kissed him.  When he pulled back, there was a small, soft smile on his face – which looked strangely vulnerable in the dreary light. 

 

“Yes,” he said.  “I – I suppose we are.” 

 

                And just like that, this chilly room was heaven.  Harry’s heart thudded against his ribs like it was attempting a prison break as he smiled back – it was the widest smile he could manage, and it still didn’t seem enough. 

 

                Nothing could be enough for this, he thought – even if all Draco did was confirm what he already knew.  Sort of. 

 

“Great,” Harry said earnestly.  “That’s – that’s great.” 

 

                Draco let out a little snort, and settled back down. 

 

“If you say so.” 

 

“If I say so…” Harry scoffed.  “What do _you_ think?” 

 

                Draco was silent as he traced Harry’s collarbone with his fingers.  In that moment, he seemed oddly rigid – as if steeling himself to say something important. 

 

“I think…  I think it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispered finally, and hid his face in Harry’s chest again. 

 

                Something twisted inside Harry, and his heart squeaked, because he was suddenly flooded by a rush of warmth.  It prickled at him as he stared down at Draco’s head, which was refusing to look up. 

 

“Me too,” he admitted softly. 

 

“Pfftt.” 

 

                The tips of Draco’s ears were pink, and Harry smiled. 

 

                His hand snaked down to meet Draco’s.  He curled his fingers around it, and sighed – it was like coming home.  The wind cackled in the open window, but they were safe from it, safe in their own little world, and it was the most amazing feeling ever. 

 

“How long ‘til the fire, do you think?” he asked quietly, running his thumb over Draco’s fingers. 

 

                Draco shifted around a bit, moving into a more comfortable position. 

 

“I don’t know,” he confessed.  “I would say anywhere from tonight to tomorrow – the earth option seems to be exhausted at this point – ” 

 

“True,” Harry nodded, and gave a short, satisfied laugh.  “Man, he did waste that last earth day.” 

 

“That he did…  Which reminds me,” Draco glanced up.  “How did you know how to do that?” 

 

                Harry blinked. 

 

“Do what?” 

 

“You know.  The garden.  You – you fixed it,” Draco said.  “When did you learn that?” 

 

“Oh, that,” Harry chuckled, and relaxed once more.  “That, Neville taught me.” 

 

“Longbottom?” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, and sighed.  “It was – just a few months after the war, I think, I was still hiding in Grimmauld Place from the _Prophet_ …  Anyway, a bunch of stray Death Eaters decided to pay a visit – ” 

 

“Shit,” Draco breathed.  “I didn’t even know about that.” 

 

“Nothing happened,” Harry shrugged.  “That one day – Ron and Hermione dragged me out to the Burrow, so…  I, uh, I wasn’t there.” 

 

                Draco looked up again to show him a disbelieving frown. 

 

“They didn’t try for an ambush?” 

 

“Nah.  Kreacher had some crazy wards set up after the last time they broke in – so, er, they just fucked up the garden and left,” Harry said.  “Merlin, it was a _mess_ …” 

 

“And you fixed it?” 

 

“Well, it was mostly Neville doing the work back then,” Harry admitted, and chuckled.  “But yeah, I suppose…  You know, I didn’t even think it was possible – to bring something back like that.  And then he just went and did it.  Boom, rebirth.” 

 

                Draco scoffed. 

 

“Says the world’s only resurrected idiot.” 

 

“Whatever,” Harry laughed, poking him, and receiving a pinch in return.  “What I was gonna say, though – do you think we should be staking it out?..  The fire hazard.” 

 

“I don’t know,” Draco said.  “We pretty much covered the entire castle in magic – I think it should be enough.  Unless, of course…” 

 

                He broke off, thinking.  Harry frowned. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

                Draco looked at him, his expression jarringly serious amidst the sleepy atmosphere of the room. 

 

“We should keep a watch on Credence,” he told Harry, his voice harsh.  “A full-time.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s – remember the legend?..  _Fire will seek out the usurper_ – whatever happens, it will happen to him,” Draco said urgently. 

 

                He rolled off Harry, and was reaching for the pile of notes on the chair, muttering under his breath.  Harry stared at him for a moment, and then it hit him like the fucking Hogwarts Express. 

 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. 

 

“Exactly,” Draco grunted.  “All that before, that was practically harmless fun.  And if Adam sends in the Eldritch, the shields will corrode, so we can’t even prevent that – ” 

 

“Oh god, this place will fucking burn,” Harry groaned, and scrambled off the bed.  “Do we even know the motive yet?” 

 

“Not on my end.” 

 

“Nor mine, either,” Harry sighed, spelling the window shut, and grabbing his notepad.  He grunted, sitting down on the floor, and flipped a few pages.  “It’s not even plain money, can you believe that?..” 

 

                Draco glanced over at him above his papers. 

 

“How so?” 

 

“I checked with every resource.  There’s no way he can be hoping to grab the grounds,” Harry told him, as he squinted at his own messy writing.  “Like, it’s too simple to be normal.  Barebone line ends with the last owner.  No banished offspring, no secret relatives, nothing…  Just, _nothing_.” 

 

“Can I see that?” Draco stuck out a demanding hand, and Harry passed him the notes.  “Okay.  That’s…  Fucking straightforward.” 

 

“Yep,” Harry nodded grimly.  “Will unchanged for generations.” 

 

“And anyway, what would be the point of all this drama?..” Draco sighed, returning the notepad.  “It only draws attention…” 

 

“You got me.” 

 

                They sat there in silence for a few moments.  Draco was leafing anxiously through his notes, as if looking for something they’d missed – but Harry wasn’t holding out much hope.  They’d gone through the same pages every evening, adding or correcting the assembled information, and yet the few crucial parts of this case remained a blank. 

 

                At least the world outside had begun to lighten up, Harry thought in a vague attempt at cheer.  Though what possible use that could bring, he had no idea – in fact, a storm would’ve been better during a threat of fire. 

 

“Argh,” Draco made an eloquent sound of absolute displeasure, and tossed his notes back on the chair.  “Fucking – I can’t find it.” 

 

                Harry frowned. 

 

“Find what?”

 

“Not sure,” Draco grumbled.  “I think – I think it’s something I’ve read about.  Before.” 

 

“Huh.  Well, whatever it is, doesn’t matter,” Harry shrugged.  “You’ll figure it out later, memory always works like that.” 

 

                Draco hummed. 

 

“Thanks for the reassurance,” he acknowledged eventually.  “But I would really rather it happened now.” 

 

“Wouldn’t we all,” Harry sighed, and climbed over to where he was perched at the foot of the bed. 

 

                Well, he tried.  His foot got caught on a shoe they’d left lying around, and he flopped with a yelp, faceplanting right into Draco’s lap. 

 

“Oops,” he announced cheerfully, looking up with a grin. 

 

“Merlin, Harry,” Draco scoffed, but he was smiling as he caught Harry’s face with his hands.  “You’re such a mess.” 

 

“But I’m _your_ mess,” Harry pointed out smugly, and pushed himself up to kiss him. 

               

                Draco wore a violent blush when he pulled away. 

 

“Still a mess,” he said breathlessly.  “You – you are.” 

 

                Harry grinned. 

 

“Who’s denying it?..” he questioned a hypothetical void, and scrambled up on the bed. 

 

                He edged closer to Draco, smiling when Draco leaned into him – almost instinctively, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry moved his arm carefully from where it was wedged between them, and put it gently around Draco, who closed his eyes at the touch.  His body was beginning to relax again, and that was all Harry could wish for. 

 

                A beautiful, slightly nervous smile was fluttering on Draco’s face. 

 

“Harry?”

 

“What?” 

 

“I…  I don’t think you’re a _bad_ mess,” Draco said quietly.  “You’re – you’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever met.” 

 

                The world was a wonderful place, after all. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

                The evening descended on the valley so quickly they barely noticed it arrive.  A fragrant summer night followed at its heels, completely devoid of rain and full to the brim with the promise of warmth – for which Harry was immensely thankful, even though it increased the hazards. 

 

                He annihilated yet another mosquito, and sighed resignedly. 

 

                He was on Credence duty – and Credence spent his curfew hours outside, sleeping on a scratchy-looking blanket next to Beauty.  Harry spent his a few meters away from them in the bushes – swatting bugs, chugging energy potions, and holding his wand at the ready, in case anyone tried to set Credence on fire.  At the moment, an attack didn’t seem likely, but…  But. 

 

                By the time the sky was beginning to lighten, he’d managed to develop a seething hatred towards every deity in every known religion.  His legs were roaring with prickles, even though he’d changed his position countless times – his eyes were bleary with lack of sleep – and his neck itched all over, lumpy with souvenirs from tiny, insectoid vampires.  It was hell. 

 

                On the plus side, Credence was still alive – and that was, after all, the only thing that mattered. 

 

                Harry smiled to himself.  It was nice, seeing Credence so relaxed.  In his sleep, he almost seemed happy – despite the little clench in his jaw, which was barely noticeable from where Harry was sitting.  It was an odd scene, to be sure – a blind unicorn, its empty eye sockets staring unseeingly ahead, and a boy, curled up and asleep at its side – but a comforting peace hung above it all, like a protector. 

 

                Harry’s fingers tightened around his wand.  He wasn’t going to let anything – _anything_ – disturb that.  These moments were obviously rare, and thus all the more important –

 

                And, as if he’d jinxed it, Credence’s plastic alarm clock perked up, and exploded in a tirade of high-pitched beeping. 

 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath, hastily adding more layers to his Disillusionment.  You never knew when that shit would wear off – and you couldn’t tell, if it did so on its own. 

 

                Meanwhile, in the clearing, Credence stirred.  His hand reached out, and poked the alarm clock, silencing it – and then he pushed himself up into a sitting position, squeezing his eyes shut to suppress a yawn.  Then, he opened them, and let out a deep exhale. 

 

                His hair had gotten a bit ruffled during the night, and his hand went up to smooth it down – almost with the same gesture Harry did his own. 

 

                Harry mirrored it compulsively, and grimaced when his fingers snagged on a dry leaf.  Wasn’t it too early for those?..  He chucked it in the grass, and turned his attention back to his target. 

 

“…  I’m sorry, I have to go now,” Credence was telling a very stubborn-looking unicorn.  “Hey, no – don’t chew on my clothes.  I’ll come back – tomorrow, would you like that?..  Tomorrow.  If it doesn’t rain.  I’ll stay out with you again then, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?..” 

 

                Beauty snorted in reply, and bumped his nose into Credence’s hand, which immediately began stroking him. 

 

“Shh – it’s okay, it’ll be alright…  I’ll come back.  I always do, remember?..” Credence was talking softly, and Harry could hear it in his voice – the almost-smile.  “See, I’m just getting up now.  Just standing up, I’m not going anywhere yet.  I need to get all my stuff together first – see, there’s the basket – ” 

 

                Harry cast another cautious _Muffliato_ before standing up himself.  His joints cracked loudly, like a crumbling glacier, as he stretched – the spell had the irritating side effect of maximizing every sound within its protection zone.  It was downright insulting. 

 

                It was a Snape spell, after all.  He should’ve expected that. 

 

“Beauty, don’t,” Credence said, with a sudden sharpness, and Harry snapped out of his thoughts.  “Don’t follow me.  You don’t want anyone to see you.” 

 

                The unicorn let out a pitiful whinny.  

 

“I know.  I’m sorry…  But it’s – you have to stay safe. You know that,” he sighed. 

 

                Beauty seemed to disagree.  His entire body seemed to shiver as Credence’s hand fell away, and a small noise escaped his throat – like a whine.

 

                A second passed – and then another.  Credence stood motionlessly in the centre of the clearing, and Beauty stood next to him.  His tail hung limply, and he was shaking, as if he thought he would die the moment Credence walked away. 

 

                Nevertheless, he took a step back, and Credence breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“Good.  That was so good, Beauty,” he told him.  “I’m – I’m going now.  Please, don’t follow me.  _Don’t_.” 

 

                Beauty nickered back softly. 

 

                The basket weighing him down from one side, and backing up slowly, Credence made his way out of the clearing, and under the cover of the trees.  Beauty’s empty eyes watched him go, unseeing, as he shuffled about on the grass.  Harry cast another glance at the unicorn’s forlorn figure, and hurried after his target. 

 

 

 

                The journey back through the forest was short.  The narrow pathway was somehow much easier to navigate in the grey morning light, and Harry made sure to keep a certain distance as they moved past the low-hanging branches, or tall grasses – anything that could reveal his presence.  Invisibility was a tricky thing, especially on a day with barely a breeze in the air. 

 

                And bodyguarding was another thing altogether, Harry thought irritably – especially when the person under threat made a point of avoiding you. 

 

                Because that was exactly what Credence was doing.  It took Harry a while to realize that.  At first, he just chalked it up to the same thing as before – that Credence just avoided humans in general – but then the library happened. 

 

                He’d just walked in – Credence had just picked up a book – and Harry had performed a mental celebration, sure that the rest of the day’s duties would be easy – when Credence suddenly vanished, mumbling a painfully polite, slightly panicked excuse. 

 

                Harry was left staring at a wall, in a state of utmost confusion. 

 

“Fucking Adam,” he muttered now, following Credence over the rocks, and up to the castle gate. 

 

                It was all that bloody fucking arsehole’s fault.  Harry had tried to talk to Credence over and over again throughout the course of the day, and all ended the same way – with his sentence half-finished, and his target gone yet again.  Credence answered all his prompts with little shrugs, refused to continue every conversation, and, after a minute or two of awkward fidgeting, made his escape.  And from all that… 

 

                From all that, the truth was obvious. 

 

                Credence didn’t trust Harry anymore. 

 

                Didn’t, or was afraid to trust him – it all amounted to the same damn thing.  Harry was on the verge of dropping Credence’s Trace, which kept corroding anyway – a step away from failing to protect Credence’s life – and a _hair_ from losing a friend he’d grown to honestly care about. 

 

                They crossed the yard, and Harry tried to dull the sound of his footsteps on the cobblestones. 

 

                It wasn’t fair, none of it, he thought violently, and sped up his gait to sneak through the door as Credence held it open for his basket.  He shouldn’t be hiding from his friend.  He shouldn’t be lying to him.  And people like Credence shouldn’t even be in immediate mortal danger. 

 

                The castle was still silent, and the sun had just begun to rise.  It gleamed with a vivid red through the pale morning fog.  However, inside, drowsiness still seemed to lurk behind every darkened corner, and the heavy ceilings were shrouded with the passing night.  They upheld the sinister way of the Barebone line, towering above everything – like a courtroom full of Puritans around a sentenced witch. 

 

                And that meant that they could be hiding anything – and the protective spells were probably corroding already –

 

                Harry clenched his wand.  They should run a systems’ check this evening. 

 

 

 

                Credence pushed open the door to the marble hall, and Harry pointed his wand quickly at the hinges – just enough to slow it down, so he could slip through without opening it again.  Doors were always the worst part of any surveillance op, he thought with annoyance, and cast another _Muffliato_.  Doors, and echoes.  Echoes were dicks. 

 

“One door left,” he muttered under the safety of the charm, and raised his wand to slow it down, too. 

 

                There were two more turns, but at least the floor was carpeted here.    

 

                Now that the large, distinctive vase was off for repairs, the corridor beyond looked just like any other – except for the little polished plaque marking one of the rooms, and bearing Credence’s name.  Harry grinned. 

 

                _Target home_. 

 

                He strolled over to the opposite wall and sat down, watching Credence fumble with the lock.  The shift had been exhausting – but in an hour or so, there would be a call to breakfast, and Draco would relieve him.  He knew that, even though they hadn’t planned anything specific beforehand – they worked together like clockwork, anyway. 

 

                Harry let his head fall back, resting against the wood, and lifted the mufflers just as Credence stepped into the room.  He pushed up his glasses.  Since he wouldn’t be able to observe directly, he’d need full auditory access –

 

                And that’s when he heard the gasp. 

 

                It wasn’t even loud.  The sound was barely there, in fact – but it jolted Harry to standing, like a good electric shock.  His wand was at the ready, his body was coiled in a battle position, and he was ready to kick down the door –

 

“Okay, no,” he told himself.  “Knock first.  Kick later.  Protocol.” 

 

                An underfed, rational part of his brain nodded approvingly, and he took a deep breath.  The plan of action.  Yes.  Knocking, that was it. 

 

                He reached out, and tapped his knuckles carefully on the door.  It remained standing mute and unresponsive in front of him, and a little charge of panic poked at his chest as he waited – for what seemed to be a whole, agonizing minute. 

 

                Then he knocked again, this time louder. 

 

“Credence?” he called.  “It’s me – I borrowed this book from Modesty, and I dunno where it goes – mind if I come in?” 

 

                The door was silent. 

 

“Credence?” Harry repeated, this time straining his ears for a reply. 

 

                It never came.  There wasn’t even any indication of movement – nothing.  The door stayed closed.  It didn’t seem right –

 

“Okay,” he decided.  “Uh, Credence – I’m gonna come in now, alright?  Merlin, I hope you’re okay…” 

 

                The doorknob was smooth and cool under his palm when he turned it.  It squeaked a little, clicking open, until Harry pushed the door open – and his eyes flew wide.   He stood at the threshold, absolutely dumbstruck. 

 

                Whatever he expected from the master bedroom of Barebone Castle, this wasn’t it.  Credence’s room was just like any other – perhaps even on the small side.  A completely regular bed stood in the middle of it, and there was a closet in the wall behind it.  A window faced the door on the opposite wall.  Its blinds were drawn, and a desk stood beside it. 

 

                Everything was completely normal – except –

 

                _Except it was on fire_ , shrieked a frantic thought – but then Harry blinked, his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, and realized that this wasn’t the case. 

 

                Instead, the place had been invaded by a million candles of all shapes and sizes.  They glowed and shimmered from every available surface – on the mantelpiece, on the top of the bookshelf, on the bedposts – they even lined the floor.  Their flames flickered as Harry opened the door wider, and slipped through, stepping inside. 

 

                The entire room seemed to be aflame. 

 

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed. 

 

                What the hell – _how_ the hell –

 

“They’re all beeswax,” Credence whispered.  “Like – like they’re _old_ …” 

 

                He was standing helplessly in the centre of it all, his head bowed, like he was trying not to look at it.  He’d set the basket neatly at his feet, but that seemed to have taken the last of his strength, because he didn’t move as Harry walked further into the room.  He barely turned around. 

 

“You’re – you’re not hurt, though, are you?..” Harry asked, glancing around. 

 

                Tall candles on the mantelpiece – short ones near the bed – carved with a fleur-de-lis –

 

“No,” Credence said, almost inaudibly, and Harry’s attention focused on him again. 

 

“You didn’t see anyone bring them in?  Or, uh – or walking out?” 

 

                Credence was quiet for a moment. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Does anyone else have the key?” Harry pressed on. 

 

“No…” 

 

                Credence’s voice was even quieter this time, and Harry sighed, staring at the little, inexplicable, dancing blobs of light. 

 

“God.  But then – how the hell did they even get here?..”

 

“I don’t know,” Credence mumbled miserably.  “I – I just walked in, and they – they were just here…” 

 

                He trailed off.  The last word was barely a whisper.  He drew one shuddering breath, still not looking at Harry, and made his way slowly to the window.  His hand went up, as if to pull the curtains aside – but then fell, pressing into the windowsill as Credence slumped over it, his shoulders shaking. 

 

                His breathing was coming in small, shallow gasps, which he kept trying to choke down.  He looked out of place in his own room – trapped –

 

                It was wrong, all of it, and Harry couldn’t just stand there – not a second longer. 

 

                Carefully, to avoid knocking down any of the candles, he crossed the room, and stopped next to Credence.  He gave the curtains a poke, to check if there was still a wall behind them, and leaned back on there with a shrug.  The window was kinda small for a master bedroom, too. 

 

                He glanced over at the Barebone heir.  A fake ghost and a tiny room – some inheritance. 

 

“Hey – Credence?..” Harry said hesitantly. 

 

                Credence looked up at him – his eyes startled and fearful.  

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“You…  You don’t mind if I stay here for a while?” Harry asked.  “With you?”

 

                For what seemed to be the longest time in the world, Credence didn’t reply.  His eyes locked onto Harry’s face, only to flicker away in a second – and his entire body grew rigid as he stood there, hunched under his gaze.  His jaw clenched, and he swallowed, before giving one, spasmodic nod. 

 

“Awesome.” 

 

                Harry tried for a grin, but he got the feeling that he wasn’t quite making it.  He kept glancing at Credence’s face instead – and the dark rings under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping. 

 

                He tore his eyes away, and tried to count the candles as they stood there together, in silence.  How many could there be – one, two hundred?..  More?..  Getting rid of them was going to be a hassle, if they were to do it Muggle.  If they _should_ be getting rid of them at all. 

 

“You know, they’re kinda cool,” he commented pensively.  “The candles.  Fire hazard as hell, though, one tips over, and poof, they burn the entire room to a crisp.” 

 

“Maybe they’re supposed to,” Credence whispered. 

 

                He was still looking away – and his knuckles were white as his fingers clenched convulsively.  Harry stood up straighter, and stared at him. 

 

“What?” he asked disbelievingly.  “What are you talking about?” 

 

                Credence was staring at the nail that stuck out awkwardly from the windowsill. 

 

“They’re – they’re the fire, aren’t they?..” His voice cracked.  “From the legend…  They’re – they’re supposed to – ” 

 

                He broke off at the last word, sniffling.  Tears drew dampened tracks down his face, even as he wiped them away hurriedly, and a shiver ran through him. 

 

“Credence, it’s not real,” Harry said slowly.  “It’s – it’s made-up, just a story – ”

 

                Credence glanced at him.  His eyes were red. 

 

“You don’t know that,” he said, and his voice was wet.  “Not anymore…” 

 

                His shoulders shook as he looked away again.   The candles glowed everywhere around them, and Credence looked painfully fragile in their fiery temple.  Tears glistened thickly on his pale skin, and he seemed like he was made of glass. 

 

                Harry chewed on his lip as he stared at him – feeling his own heart twisting in two, and hating his inability to change anything that was making Credence cry like this. 

 

                He reached out with his hand, and drew it back quickly when Credence flinched at the movement. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.  “I’m – I’m not going to hurt you – should I, uh…  Should I move back?” 

 

                Credence sniffled, swallowing. 

 

“No,” he muttered weakly.  “No, stay – please – ” 

 

                He broke off with another little shiver, and Harry nodded. 

 

“Of course.” 

 

                His next movements were slow and careful.  He moved closer, hesitantly, waiting for Credence to stop him or to pull away – except he never did.  Only his head turned slightly – looking at Harry’s fingers splayed out on the windowsill. 

 

                He was still shaking, and tears pooled at his eyes – but it almost seemed like he was reaching for Harry, too. 

 

“Is it okay to touch you now?” Harry asked softly. 

 

“Yes,” Credence whispered. 

 

                Harry brushed his hand over his shoulder, and let it rest there.  Credence exhaled lightly – his eyes flickering to Harry’s face. 

 

“Is this alright?” Harry asked, and Credence sniffled, nodding and twisting around to almost face him.  He was looking at the floor again.  “I – I’m going to hug you now, is that okay, too?” 

 

                Credence was silent.  Then, he swallowed, and gave the smallest of nods. 

 

                Harry smiled, and let his hand migrate to Credence’s back, guiding him close, pulling him in, and wrapping his arms around him – carefully, gradually, and as gently as he possibly could. 

 

                He felt Credence stiffen at the touch, and stopped, pulling away to look at him. 

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Yes,” Credence mumbled.  “I’m – I’m fine, it’s just – ” 

 

                He fell silent, blinking away his tears.  His face was smeared with them as he tilted forwards a little, and his forehead bumped awkwardly into Harry’s shoulder.  Harry sighed, and put his arms back around him.  He wasn’t going to press. 

 

                The hug was odd, though.  It seemed as though Credence didn’t know how to do it properly – he kept completely still, and his arms remained hanging limply by his sides, while he stayed as close to Harry as he could without actually holding on.  Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that.  

 

                Credence shuddered.  A stifled sob broke from him, almost soundless – and he pressed closer to Harry, trembling and coughing as tears streamed down his face.  He still hadn’t quite hugged Harry back, but his entire body was begging to be held, comforted – kept safe –

 

                It was like he’d never been hugged before in his life. 

 

                Harry’s heart constricted with a wave of protectiveness, and slowly, he raised his hand to stroke Credence’s hair.  The contact was light – barely there – but Credence let out a little whimper.  He was quivering all over, and his shoulders were tight as he attempted to keep still.  Except another moan was spilling from his throat, a pitiful, broken sound, and he couldn’t choke it down –

 

“Hey,” Harry nudged him softly.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing,” Credence choked out, sniffling again.  “I’m just – Harry, I’m so _scared_ …” 

 

                A whine ended that last word, and he buried his face in Harry’s shirt.  Harry didn’t speak for a moment, holding him and carding his fingers through his hair – what could he say, anyhow?.. 

 

“Is it the candles?” he asked finally. 

 

                Credence nodded into his shoulder. 

 

“They’re not magic,” Harry said.  “They don’t mean anything, not really – ”

 

“No, y-you don’t – you don’t understand…  They do, they’re – I’m…  I’m going to die, Harry – I’m gonna _die_ – ” 

 

                Credence coughed, like a dry, silent retch, and gasped for breath.  A little squeak broke from his throat, and he shuddered again – as if he was about to collapse into pieces.  His hands were finally clutching at Harry as he sobbed, unable to hold back anymore.  It was as if his heart was being torn at with every sound – mercilessly.  He was convulsing with tears, powerless against his own hurt, and all Harry could do was hold him there in his arms. 

 

“Shh.  You’re not going to die.  It’s alright…” 

 

“It’s _not_ – Harry, I’ve seen her!..  I c-can’t do this anymore,” Credence hiccoughed, and sniffled, blabbering as tears streamed down his face.  “Help me, please…  Help me – ” 

 

“I will.  You’re going to be okay,” Harry said quietly into his hair.  “I promise.” 

 

“Help me…” 

 

                Harry was whispering something soft and meaningless, rocking Credence gently back and forth.  They were almost the same height, he now noticed – except Credence seemed much smaller, perhaps because he slouched.  He didn’t have the years of Auror training behind him, either, and Harry felt strangely big next to him.   

 

                _Huh.  I’m the tall one for once_ , he thought with some backward part of his brain, and blinked at the absurdity of it. 

 

                Harry stroked Credence’s hair gently, and Credence seemed to quiver at every touch, like he never expected it to repeat.  They stood together, as slowly – gradually – his sobs quietened. 

 

                His breathing was still uneven, and wet, but at least he wasn’t trembling so much anymore.  He turned his head a little, resting his cheek on Harry’s shoulder.  Hiccups still ran through him, and Harry could feel his chest jump a little every time. 

 

                He was sniffling quietly, and holding on to Harry like he didn’t know how to let go. 

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry repeated softly.  “Just keep breathing…” 

 

“B-but the candles – ” 

 

“Don’t look at them.  Close your eyes.” 

 

                Credence sniffled. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Close your eyes,” Harry said.  “They can’t hurt you – just close your eyes…” 

 

                He brushed his fingers softly over Credence’s hair when he did, and then stuck his hand out slightly – just in case, to avoid singeing him.  Such mass Vanishings were difficult, and Harry hesitated for a moment, trying to concentrate.  He took a deep breath, and made golden sparks dance on his fingertips – before bringing them together for a loud snap. 

 

                Credence flinched at the sound. 

 

“Shh, it’s nothing,” Harry soothed.  “Everything is alright…” 

 

                He held Credence’s trembling frame, rocking back and forth as he cast a critical look around the room, and smiled at his accomplishment.  _Not bad._  

 

“You can open,” he murmured, waving at the last two irritating candles, and let his hand rest again on the back of Credence’s head. 

 

                He heard a small gasp, and Credence shifted a little, glancing around in almost total darkness.  The curtains turned out to be unusually thick. 

 

“Harry…” he stammered finally.  “What – what did you do?..” 

 

“Eh,” Harry shrugged.  “You didn’t see it, so it wasn’t illegal.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

                Credence hiccoughed again, and Harry felt his fingers tighten on his shirt with the shiver. 

 

“Would you like to sit down?” he offered.  “Near the wall would be best, it’s good to have something to lean on…” 

 

                Credence nodded into his shoulder. 

 

“Great,” Harry said, tightening his hug for just a second – and then he pulled back.   

 

                Slipping his arm gently around Credence’s shoulders, he guided them both to the wall near the window.  It was the only spot with any empty space – the rest of the room seemed cluttered, despite being sparsely furnished.  It was small. 

 

                Credence stumbled slightly, but Harry held him tight, and soon his back found the painted stone. 

 

“It’s alright…  Everything’s gonna be alright…” he kept repeating. 

 

                He helped them both down to the floor, which was smooth and cool – as if an undetectable breeze was slithering across it.  Harry frowned, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but then chased the thought away.  There were more important things at hand. 

 

                He shifted a little, so that their sides were pressed tight together.  The newly established darkness hung all around them, but it didn’t feel threatening or evil – instead, it seemed like it was protecting them from everything outside this room.  And inside – inside was safe.  It was secure, closed, and the walls surrounded them, like a den. 

 

                It had its own, strange version of peace, Harry thought.  Dark, isolated – and yet so soft. 

 

                His eyes were getting used to the new lighting, anyway – the glasses had been equipped with all manner of spells, standard Auror procedure.  Soon, he was able to distinguish the little crack in the curtains, where light was still seeping through.  It was curiously comforting. 

 

                Credence sniffled into his shoulder, and Harry looked down at him. 

 

“Are you better now?” he asked. 

 

“I think so,” Credence whispered.  “Don’t – don’t go.  Please.” 

 

“I won’t.” 

 

                There was no way he’d leave.  Harry’s hand found Credence’s, and he gave it a little reassuring squeeze, to confirm his words. 

 

                It felt weird.  The palm was rough, and scratched a bit against his skin – except – Harry frowned.  Credence didn’t look like he’d done a lot of manual labour – at least, not the kind that would result in calloused hands.  But then, why would he –

 

                A fucking boulder dropped down Harry’s stomach as the realization hit him.  They were scars – cruel, raised scars from wounds that were barely tended to when they were inflicted.  They covered almost every bit of skin – he could feel their angry, vicious streaks running across the natural lines of the palm, obscuring them. 

 

                And they repeated, over and over – the same marks, crisscrossing over each other –

 

                It was so _wrong_ –

 

                Harry glanced down at Credence, who was curled up at his side.  He was breathing lightly, though sniffles still interrupted it sometimes – and his fingers were clinging to Harry’s as the hiccups slowly left him.  Harry’s other hand was running softly over his shoulder, and that seemed to be the only thing he cared about. 

 

                Biting down on his lip, Harry swallowed whatever questions he had.  He wasn’t going to ruin this moment of calm – not when Credence had so much on his mind already.  This was more important. 

 

“Looks like it’s gonna be a nice day today,” he said instead.  “D’you think we could all go hiking to the Fairy Gate?  Would be fun.” 

 

“I – I don’t know,” Credence said.  “We could.” 

 

“Right?..  Well, who knows,” Harry sighed.  “I’m not sure if Dr. Bai would be down with it – or Adam…  Is there, like, any particular reason he hates me?” 

 

“W-what?”

 

“Adam,” Harry repeated, thinking fast.  “I, uh – I ran into him the other day, and he gave me this dirty look – keeps doing it, actually.  Does he hate me or something?” 

 

                Credence was silent for a moment. 

 

“I’m not sure,” he said finally.  “It’s – it’s Adam, he gets a little worried is all…  He thinks you’re…  Criminals masquerading, with – with fake names and all that.  You and Draco.” 

 

“You’re kidding me here?..” Harry chuckled, and let his head fall back against the wall.  “Man.  He’d get along with my aunt and uncle, they always said the same thing…  Spite is a great motivator, though.” 

 

                Credence frowned. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Spite,” Harry explained.  “You see, I was so determined to prove them wrong, I ended up in law enforcement instead.” 

 

                He grinned into the darkness as they sat together in silence.  There it was, his stellar moment.  All he could hope for was that it would bring back at least a shred of Credence’s trust. 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.  “Draco’s technically my partner – it’s kinda weird, now that you think of it.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

                The day was growing brighter outside, and the light seeped gently through the curtains and into the room.  Harry couldn’t see it, but he knew that the sun was probably already shining over the treetops, and that the last of the gilded morning mist was dissipating for good. 

 

                Here, however, the walls maintained the woven dusk of the previous night.  It lay all around them, and Credence seemed to be part of it somehow – a small, living shadow pressed close to Harry. 

 

                Harry’s arm still rested protectively around him.  Shadows were vulnerable things, he was thinking with some background part of his mind.  They needed to be loved – to be cared for…  He ran his hand gently over Credence’s hair, and smiled when the corner of Credence’s mouth almost twitched up.  They were still friends, after everything. 

 

                Which meant that he could do all of this – and Adam could go to hell.  Or Azkaban, whichever. 

 

“It’s – it’s almost breakfast time,” Credence whispered. 

 

                Harry hummed, staring at the streak of light on the floor. 

 

“We should probably get up then,” he said pensively.  “I’m starving – hope Jacob is making muffins again.”

 

                Credence chewed on his lip, his fingers tightening around Harry’s. 

 

“I think he said pancakes yesterday,” he mumbled. 

 

“Great,” Harry grinned.  “Pancakes are great, too.” 

 

                He grunted, pushing himself up to stand.  He’d somehow managed to acquire a raging crick in the neck, and he rubbed at his arse, which felt practically flat after the time they’d spent sitting on the floor.  It had been worth it, though – and he smiled, offering his hand to pull Credence up, as well. 

 

“Ouch,” Harry decided with a massive stretch, and yawned.  “We should use a sofa next time.  At least that’s actually made for sitting.” 

 

“Okay...” 

 

“I mean, you want anything else, that’s fine too,” Harry clarified, heading to the door.  “Like, a big swing – a swing would be nice around here, you know?..  Somewhere behind the castle, maybe.  I like swings…” 

 

                He soon exhausted all material that existed around swings in general, and fell into a comfortable silence – while Credence closed the door carefully behind them and locked it.  Harry flicked his index finger at it for good measure.  Locks didn’t seem to stand in Adam’s way, and he wasn’t taking any chances. 

 

 

 

                They followed the marble staircase down to ground level yet again.  The world outside was indeed as light as Harry supposed it to be, and sky was washed clean of any breath of clouds.  The valley below was unbelievably wide – and the mountain ranges faded into a humid blue somewhere far away. 

 

                The castle wound its illogical corridors around them, but they didn’t seem as daunting as they had just a few days ago.  He knew them already, at least this bit of them.  There was just another corner –

 

                Harry pushed open the door, and grinned, holding it open for Credence.  It was the right one. 

 

                Beyond it, a short, dimly lit hallway led to the doors outside the reception room – and from there, to the dining hall.  Riding on a bout of irrational pride at his own navigational skills, Harry crossed it quickly, and was about to reach for the door handle, when he felt a little tug on his sleeve. 

 

                He stopped. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

                The light poured into the hallway from the single white lamp above the door.  It gave the wood a pale glint, while the rest remained shrouded with shadows – where Credence was standing near the wall, having shrunk back slightly when Harry turned around. 

 

“Hey,” Harry nudged his arm.  “It’s okay – did you want to say something?” 

 

                Credence’s face was uncertain, and he glanced away. 

 

“Do you think I’m a changeling?..” he asked quietly. 

 

                Harry sighed. 

 

“No,” he said.  “I don’t think so.” 

 

                Credence looked up.  A tiny hope flickered in his eyes. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah – you’re too tall.  Fairies are generally much smaller, it’s genetics.  They’re like…  The size of a large ornament, you know?” Harry grinned.  “They like to sit on Christmas trees a lot.” 

 

                Credence blinked, an expression of confusion taking over his features. 

 

“You’re – you’re serious?..”

 

“Completely,” Harry assured him, hoping that it didn’t sound like a joke. 

 

                It wasn’t, and he wanted Credence to know that. 

 

                Tentatively, he moved closer, and pulled Credence into a hug.  This time, it was returned almost immediately, and Harry smiled. 

 

“You know, even if you were a changeling – I don’t think it would make much difference to who you are,” he said softly.  “You’d still be you, Credence.”   

 

                His hand rested lightly on Credence’s back as they stood in the transparent, protective shadow – just outside of the lamp’s reach.  In that moment, he wasn’t sure of anything that was going on.  The world seemed exactly like the shadow itself – stark and blurring at the same time.  It was nice. 

 

                Somewhere in the castle, a clock went off, counting out eight ringing beats.  Harry sighed. 

 

“You okay to go now?” he asked, pulling back a bit. 

 

                There was a soft look on Credence’s face – almost like a smile. 

 

“I – I think so,” he said hesitantly.  “I am.” 

 

“Come on, then,” Harry grinned.  “I think we’re fashionably late already.” 

 

                He turned around, his hand reaching for the door handle.  Behind it, the tinkling of silverware and hurried footsteps already hailed a new morning, and voices hummed through the halls as the castle’s few inhabitants gathered for breakfast.  Harry could hear their laughter.   

 

                He smiled, and pushed the door open. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Fire happened,” Harry said curtly, as he pulled Draco behind the corner. 

 

                Breakfast had just ended, and the people were gradually beginning to migrate to wherever they usually spent their days at Barebone Castle.  Jacob and Queenie had already moved to the kitchens, while Credence was still seated at the table with Modesty in his lap, talking quietly to Dr. Bai. 

 

                Harry cast a wary glance at Adam, but he seemed to be heading the opposite way – though in a castle threaded with secret passages, nothing was certain. 

 

                Draco followed his movements as well before turning his attention back to Harry, his eyes sharp. 

 

“What was it?”

 

“Candles,” Harry sighed.  “Like, a ton.  Everywhere in Credence’s room.” 

 

“Any evidence preserved?” Draco asked in a low voice, and Harry nodded. 

 

“Two, beeswax – I’m pretty sure I know the makers.  Vanished the rest.” 

 

“Not bad,” Draco smirked appreciatively, accepting the two paper-wrapped candles, and stuffing them into his pocket.  “Now, if you don’t mind doing the world a favour, Harry…” 

 

“What?” Harry frowned. 

 

“You’re a dead man walking,” Draco told him.  “Go to sleep.”

 

                Harry grinned. 

 

“Can’t.  Have to talk to Charlotte about a thing first.” 

 

“It better take no more than a minute.” 

 

“It’s an investigation.  There’s no time promises,” Harry shrugged. 

 

                Draco glared. 

 

“Harry, I’m serious,” he said.  “You’ve been up all night.  You need the rest.” 

 

“I know,” Harry sighed.  “I’ll get it.” 

 

“Seriously – ”

 

“I’ll do a Sleep Stretch,” Harry vowed.  “I’ll _layer_ it.” 

 

“Twice.” 

 

                Draco’s pointy face wore a stubborn expression of concern as their eyes locked in what seemed to be a silent battle for Harry’s health and sanity.  Then they softened – his hand brushed against Harry’s, lightly – and Harry gave up. 

 

“Okay,” he acquiesced, tangling their fingers together.  “Twice.” 

 

                Draco smiled, and his forehead bumped softly against Harry’s.  His eyes fluttered closed, and Harry felt his heart twitch and start melting in his chest.  He angled his head slightly, and pressed a kiss to Draco’s lips, smiling when he heard his breath catch. 

 

                And then Draco was kissing him back, and he didn’t want to think of anything else. 

 

“I’ll – I’ll have to actually talk to her first,” Harry said breathlessly when they pulled apart with reluctance. 

 

“Right.” 

 

“You’ll have to let me go for that.” 

 

                Draco let out a grunt. 

 

“Do I have to?..” he whined. 

 

                Harry sighed. 

 

“Yeah.  Unfortunately.” 

 

“Shit,” Draco said mournfully. 

 

                His fingers were still tracing Harry’s cheek, and Harry couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

 

“I – I really gotta go,” he whispered. 

 

“I know,” Draco mumbled back.  He didn’t move away. 

 

                Harry smiled. 

 

“Quit jeopardizing the investigation then, genius,” he muttered. 

 

                Draco leaned forward, and kissed him again.  A soft smile was hovering on his face. 

 

 

 

                The world outside greeted Harry with almost glaring sunlight, and he squinted at the sky.  It was washed a bright, clear blue – the only clouds in sight hung somewhere at the horizon, and he had to smile a little as he made his way to the garden. 

 

                According to his trackers, Charlotte had been there since breakfast. 

 

“ _Point Me_ ,” Harry ordered once more, pulling out his wand. 

 

                It twirled lazily in the palm of his hand and settled, pointing on, toward the neatly trimmed hedge.  Thanks to Draco, the bushes now contained a practically undetectable, and fairly useable secret passage – which was cool, but…  Frankly, Harry had had enough of those for a lifetime. 

 

                Instead, he followed the normal, hedge-less footpath down to the flowerbeds, and spent some time getting lost before finally spotting Charlotte.  She was kneeling next to a magnificent arrangement of blossoms, oblivious to everything else. 

 

                Several seconds passed.  Charlotte was humming something to herself, while Harry shuffled from one foot to another behind her. 

 

                Then he coughed, and she turned around. 

 

“Oh!  Mr. Potter,” she smiled.  _Right, it was Draco she was friends with…_   “Good morning.” 

 

“Good morning,” Harry grinned back. 

 

                Merlin’s pants, did she have to look so much like that zombie woman from the West Wing?..  Harry wondered what Credence thought of that – he said he’d seen her.  Where, though… 

 

                He pictured running into her in a narrow, dark secret passage, and tried not to shiver. 

 

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he said aloud, heard his own awkward words, and flushed almost instantly.  “Uh, actually, no, don’t answer that.  That was stupid.” 

 

“Not necessarily,” Charlotte shrugged.  “It _is_ surprisingly nice – I’d thought it will rain all week…  Did you need something, Mr. Potter?” 

 

                There it was. 

 

“Well, uh,” Harry stumbled.  “I actually had this, er – thought it would be best to ask in private…” 

 

                He trailed off.  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. 

 

“Oh?..  What is it?” 

 

“Mary Lou Barebone,” Harry blurted. 

 

                Charlotte’s hand stilled where it was plucking dead blossoms from a flourishing petunia. 

 

“What?” she asked slowly. 

 

“Mary Lou Barebone,” Harry repeated.  He let his voice drop, seriousness taking over his expression.  “I – I need to know.  What was she like?” 

 

“She’s dead.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

                Stabbing her trowel harshly into the soil, Charlotte stood up.  Her face was grim, and Harry waited with bated breath as she studied his face.  Even the garden seemed to go quiet. 

 

“She was a monster,” Charlotte said finally.  “A bloody monster, and I don’t care what they said in all those rags about her _tragic accident_ , I don’t!  I – I am _happy_ she is dead…” 

 

                She gave a dark, cold laugh, and stared back at Harry, almost as if daring him to challenge her statement.  Her nostrils were dilated with sudden anger – no, anger she’d suppressed for years, and now finally let loose. 

 

“You must’ve noticed – big, empty castle?..  Used to be full of people, except there was barely anyone who’d stayed here of their own free will,” her voice was dripping venom as she spoke.  “She was cruel, she treated everyone like – like _scum_ – ” 

 

                Charlotte paused, breathing heavily.  Harry chewed on his lip before speaking again. 

 

“Was this common knowledge?..” he asked. 

 

“Everyone down in the valley knew about Barebone Castle.”   

 

“Then how did people ever work for her?” 

 

“They just did,” Charlotte shrugged.  “She always had something on you to _make_ you stay, Mr. Potter.  That, or you just didn’t have any other options.” 

 

                They remained silent for a moment.  Harry couldn’t find the words to say anything else – and he’d known already what can of worms he’d picked up.  Except he needed to know – those scars on Credence’s hands were still a fresh memory in his mind – so he’d pried the lid off with his bare hands. 

 

                Charlotte’s eyes burned with a hatred Harry was sure could cross the fucking veil and break Mary Lou Barebone’s neck for the second time. 

 

“Why did you stay?” he asked quietly. 

 

                She sighed. 

 

“Credence,” she said eventually.  “I couldn’t abandon him to her.  She – she terrorized everyone here at the castle, but she seemed to hate him the most.” 

 

“She was beating him,” Harry said harshly. 

 

“I know.” 

 

“And – and you didn’t _do_ anything?” he demanded.  

 

“I tried!” Charlotte snapped.  “But I’m a gardener, and she was rich.  She made the charges go away.” 

 

                He should’ve known, really. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“I couldn’t risk again,” Charlotte said, her voice almost breaking.  “I’d lose my job, and Credence would’ve been left alone with her, and I – I couldn’t let that happen.  All I could do was stay here – and, and help him – after the, the – after, a few times…” 

 

“I see.” 

 

                Harry sighed.  The garden stood quiet around them, every leaf sagging under the weight of a secret that wasn’t a secret, and yet felt like one – a horrible, dark, painful secret that was now convulsing on the ground in open daylight.  He felt angry.  Furious, even.  Because – would it be impossible for the Ministry to send someone sooner?..  The surges were happening for years, they could’ve sent somebody to the castle to investigate – they could’ve done _something_ , if only somebody found out –

 

                Then again, they wouldn’t have cared about Credence, anyway. 

 

                He wasn’t _magic_.  He wasn’t related to wizards.  He was just a person nobody cared about – and he wasn’t important in any way, so why would they even bother lifting a finger?..  It’s wasn’t _their_ problem.  Not a wizarding problem. 

 

                Nobody cared – so now an ugly, twisted truth wriggled on the manicured lawn.  

 

                Merlin bloody Christ, if only its face didn’t seem so familiar… 

 

“I should’ve done more,” Charlotte whispered.  “I know.  I just – couldn’t.” 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

                Something inside Harry felt heavy as he dragged himself back uphill, to the castle doors.  The conversation with Charlotte – or was it an interrogation? – left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, despite only confirming what he already new; and he felt somehow responsible for all of it. 

 

                He hadn’t really solved anything, had he?..  And that was his job… 

 

“ _Point Me_ ,” Harry muttered, and the wand spun in his hand.  He quickened his pace. 

 

                A fat, ominous crow hopped along the rails after him, its eyes freakishly human and scrutinizing, and it squawked indignantly when he flicked a _Revelio_ at it. 

 

                Not an Animagus, then. 

 

“At least that,” he sighed wearily, and rubbed at his eyes, which were preparing to mutiny. 

 

                There was still that nagging uncertainty everywhere he turned.  It was frankly ridiculous – after two weeks in the castle, they were still no closer to determining motive in this crazy case.  Though to be fair, Eldritch-enslaving nutters rarely needed one...  They still didn’t know how Charlotte’s evil double fit into the story – since its only function seemed to spook everyone who saw it…  

 

                It could be a guard dog of sorts.  But in that case, was Adam holding the Eldritch in the West Wing? 

 

“It’s a miracle the castle is still standing,” Harry decided. 

 

                The crow agreed. 

 

“Caw, caw, eh?” he squinted at the bird.  His _Revelio_ wasn’t faulty, was it?  He’d done the monthly wand check-up.  “Okay, what do you know that I don’t?” 

 

                _Everything_ , the crow seemed to say, and Harry scoffed, resuming his short, yet eventful journey up the stairs.  The case was a mess…  And then there was Credence.  Somehow, he was smack in the centre of all this.  The eye of a hurricane.  Intact – for now…  But time was ticking. 

 

                The only thing Harry knew with absolute, unwavering certainty was that Mary Lou Barebone deserved to die.  A thousand times over. 

 

                The wand glowed blue, and he groaned. 

 

“Towers, again?..  Really?” 

 

                Harry pushed open the front door with a creak.  Right – Credence did say it would do that, what was that special angle?..  He felt like a kid sneaking into the house past curfew – and in a way, he was – but he’d just had a brilliant idea, and it couldn’t wait.  Not now that the fire happened. 

 

“At least the Trace is holding,” he told himself with the fakest cheer he could manage, and practically sprinted up the stairs.  In this castle, such fortunate circumstances never remained for long. 

 

                The walls looked down at him with stony condescension. 

 

 

 

                Harry let out a huff, and duly thanked the heavens for the last step before the landing.  The best part of all staircases was the end, he decided, and grinned.  The wand was blinking rapidly, which meant that his target was nearby.  Somewhere here, in this small, round room at the top of the tower. 

 

“Let’s just hope it’s not another wall,” he addressed nobody in particular, following the light through the door.  It danced merrily over the grimy stone.  His footsteps sounded eerie in the dusty tower, and he raised his voice.  “Credence?  You in here?” 

 

“Y-yes…”

 

                The reply was muffled – and then the wall right next to him groaned open, uncaringly confirming Harry’s suspicions as he scrambled to hide his wand out of sight.  Credence stepped out, looking rather startled as usual – but then Harry grinned, and he tried to smile back. 

 

“Hi – uh, did you…  Did you need something?” he asked uncertainly, as the secret passage clicked back into obscurity behind him. 

 

“Not exactly – sort of,” Harry admitted.  “Hold on, I’ll just find it…” 

 

                He crossed over to the narrow window – whatever those things were called – and started emptying his pockets.  Technically, it should’ve been an easy procedure – except all Auror clothing was loaded with Extension Charms, and Merlin’s fucking pants, it was difficult as hell. 

 

“There’s this thing,” he explained to Credence, as he rummaged around in his jacket.  “I, uh, I think it might help – no, not this – why do I even _have_ this?..  What the fuck.” 

 

                He pulled out a large knitted hat, and was vaguely reminded of last year’s Christmas.  He couldn’t for the life of him remember who gave him the thing, though. 

 

“It’s – it’s a nice hat,” Credence said tentatively behind him. 

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry acquiesced.  “Ugh, I swear I had it somewhere here…  Hold on.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

                Harry gave a grin, and pulled out a peacock quill fancy enough to rival Lockhart’s. 

 

“Why?” he questioned blankly as he held it up. 

 

“Maybe it’s for the hat?” Credence suggested. 

 

“No, can’t be that – it’s to write with,” Harry told him, studying it in a vain attempt to jiggle his memory.  “Do you want it?  I’m not using it, and I suppose it is kinda nice…” 

 

                He was starting to feel like Hagrid. 

 

                Credence shook his head. 

 

“It’s alright,” he said, fidgeting with his sleeve.  “I – Harry, I wanted to – to thank you.  For what you did.  This morning, I mean.” 

 

                Harry looked up from his endless pocket. 

 

“What – oh.  Hey, uh, it’s fine.  Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“But I…  Still.  Thank you,” Credence said, with a smallest hint of stubbornness in his voice, and Harry grinned. 

 

“Okay.  Anytime,” he said, and dropped a long silver chain on the windowsill.  It was heavy, and it sparkled in the sun.  He tried the other pocket, and discovered a plastic robot.  “You don’t need this thing either, do you?” 

 

“N-not really?” 

 

“Thought not,” Harry sighed, and held his breath as his fingers finally snagged on wound thread.  “Got it.” 

 

                He pulled it out – a dainty arrangement of braided silvery threads, tied in a loop.  Little metallic charms were woven into it, just far enough from each other to be completely soundless. 

 

                A second such loop followed, and he grinned. 

 

“Thought I still had both of these…  Come here, I’ll show you.” 

 

                Credence stepped closer, hesitantly. 

 

“What are they?” 

 

“Friendship bracelets,” Harry announced happily.  “Charmed ones, see?” 

 

                He dangled one of them in front of Credence’s nose. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry grinned.  “Now, here’s the thing.  These two bracelets, they’re a pair.  Connected.  So, if I take one, and you – here, take this one…” 

 

                He held it out.  Credence’s fingers were cold and uncertain as he took the bracelet – barely sticking his arm out – and then he stood there, fidgeting with the charms. 

 

“Put it on,” Harry urged, and slipped on his own.  It didn’t scratch at all – bless Luna and her handiwork. 

 

“O-okay…” 

 

                Harry nodded as Credence put on the bracelet. 

 

“Good.  Okay, so – see this charm here?  The largest one, it’s dangling…” he raised his own wrist, so that it was in plain view.  A small symbol of the Deathly Hallows, cast in dark metal – he should’ve expected no less from a Lovegood. 

 

“The – the eye one?” Credence clarified. 

 

“Yeah, exactly, that one.  Uh, this part might be a little weird, but…” 

 

                Harry pressed his finger to the little triangle. 

 

“Ah!..” 

 

                Credence’s eyes flew wide as he stared at his wrist with surprise. 

 

“It’s – it’s _warm_ ,” he said wonderingly.  His finger nudged the charm, and Harry felt the heat return to his own bracelet. 

 

“Yup,” he grinned.  “It’s a communication device of sorts.  If I touch mine, you’ll feel yours get warm.  If you touch yours, well, I’ll know.  You get what it means, though, right?  If anything happens, ever – you can call me.  Wherever I am.  And I’ll come help.  Okay?” 

 

                Credence looked up, and he was almost smiling. 

 

“Okay,” he said softly, and Harry smiled back. 

 

“Awesome.” 

 

                He brushed his hand over Credence’s shoulder, and that was enough for him to edge nearer – until Harry could pull him into a hug.  Credence’s head was resting on his shoulder – two thin, cold hands clutched at his jacket – and it was great. 

 

“If anything happens,” Harry repeated – “If you’re ever in danger – just touch the charm, and I’ll come.  I promise.” 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Harry, I’m so fucking – go to sleep.  Now.” 

 

“You have to admit though, it was an awesome idea,” Harry insisted, folding back the covers.  He pulled off his glasses, and set them carefully on the night table. 

 

                Draco groaned, and waved his wand over the bed, adding another layer to Harry’s Sleep Stretch. 

 

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.  “A Protean Link.  It was a wonderful, efficient idea, and I don’t even have the means to properly criticize it, which is an issue of its own.  But you lost half an hour following an almost Untraceable target through this maze of a castle, _and you could’ve been sleeping this entire time_ – ”

 

“But it couldn’t wait,” Harry protested.  “What if I lost the Trace – or something happened?..  Or I couldn’t find the charm later?  Or – ” 

 

                Draco cut him off by physically shoving him on the mattress, and pulling the covers over him. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

                Harry wriggled up to stick his head out. 

 

“I can’t breathe in there – ” he began through his sleepy haze, and almost made to sit up, but Draco pushed him back down. 

 

“Doesn’t matter.  Talk later.  Sleep now,” he ordered. 

 

                Harry glared, and struggled to keep his thoughts coherent. 

 

“But – ” 

 

“ _Now_ , Harry.  Begone.  Sleep.  To dreamland I command thee.” 

 

“Did you just banish me to dreamland?..” Harry snorted half-heartedly. 

 

                That was funny.  There was something else he’d wanted to say – it was also funny – but he couldn’t remember now.  His eyes were beginning to grow heavy again. 

 

“Yes,” Draco told him.  “Now sleep, or I swear to fucking Merlin and all the gods below, I will force a sleeping draught down your throat, or so help me.” 

 

                Harry grinned, even as his eyelids closed. 

 

“You’re bossy,” he mumbled sleepily. 

 

                Draco sighed. 

 

“Somebody has to be.” 

 

                His hand pushed Harry’s hair away from his face, and lingered there, stroking it lightly.  It was so gentle – and Harry smiled.  It was perfect, really.  A prickling warmth enveloped him, and his entire body was already prepared to accept this as his entire future.  Fuck career, relationships, and all the other shit.  This was his true calling. 

 

“Good night, Harry,” he heard Draco whisper. 

 

                A feather-light kiss was pressed to his forehead, and then the world collapsed into darkness.   

 

 

 

                The day was dark when Harry finally awoke.  It took him a while to stretch and regain his sense of time – which was usually pretty crappy anyway.  A quick _Tempus_ revealed that it was just a few minutes past six, and he snapped his fingers hastily, before the charm went off.  Alarms had that pesky side effect of blaring him from a warm comfort into the most unpleasant form of wakefulness he’d ever experienced. 

 

                He pushed the glasses back on his face, and almost stabbed himself in the eye.  Yawning, he sat up on the bed.  New day, new chances – and even less time to solve this fucking case.  It was beginning to drive him crazy with every new development. 

 

                A magical message in cheerful, shining green decorated the back wall, announcing that Draco was still out on Credence duty.  A map below lazily traced his progress around the castle – something that Harry hadn’t thought to do during his shift, but was nevertheless a nice idea. 

 

“Show-off,” he muttered lovingly, and pushed the blanket away. 

 

                His teeth reeked with calcium, and he stumbled toward the bathroom, tripping over his own feet – and then the shoes he’d left lying around a few hours ago.  Technically, brushing his teeth at this point did seem rather useless – considering that dinner was a few minutes away – and yet. 

 

                There he was, risking his life for a toothbrush. 

 

                As he stood in front of the sink, studying his face in the mirror, he heard the door click open. 

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Draco’s sing-song voice called out, and Harry grinned, his mouth moving oddly around the fateful toothbrush. 

 

                He spat in the sink. 

 

“I’m in here,” he called back, and turned on the water. 

 

                The bathroom door creaked.  Harry glanced up, and saw Draco’s reflection – leaning carelessly on the doorframe with a smirk on his face. 

 

“Hey,” he said. 

 

“Hey,” Draco grinned back. 

 

                He strolled across the tiled floor, stopping behind Harry – inches away.  His arms slipped around Harry’s middle, and Harry’s entire face stretched into a smile as he twisted around to face him. 

 

“How was the stakeout?” he asked. 

 

                Draco’s eyes glinted at him in the golden light of the bathroom. 

 

“Oh, you know…” he drawled with a theatrical sigh.  “Tedious.  Exhausting.  Everything a proper stakeout should be, especially one that doubles as a bodyguarding mission.” 

 

“How noble of you to undertake such a task, Auror Malfoy,” Harry smirked. 

 

“Hm.” 

 

                Draco looked like he was going to try and come up with something witty, but Harry ran his fingers over his cheek, and he smiled softly instead, leaning into the touch. 

 

“How did you sleep?” he asked quietly. 

 

                Harry shrugged. 

 

“Alright.” 

 

“No nightmares?” 

 

“None,” Harry grinned.  “But then I suppose nothing was happening, right?” 

 

“I suppose,” Draco admitted, and something in him seemed to relax. 

 

                Harry’s thumb brushed against his jaw. 

 

“Were you worried?”

 

“What do you think?” Draco scoffed.  “I just – what if you did have one?..  And – and I wasn’t there…” 

 

“I’d live,” Harry shrugged.  “I’ve had nightmares before, you know.” 

 

“I know.  I know…” 

 

                His hands tightened on Harry’s waist, and Harry smiled. 

 

“You don’t have to worry about me so much,” he said quietly. 

 

“I know.” 

 

                _But I still do_ , Draco’s eyes seemed to say as they bore into Harry’s – a sad gentleness swirling deep inside them.  It was strangely soft, and Harry leaned closer. 

 

                Draco closed what little distance was left himself, and they kissed, forgetting, for a moment, the entire world.  Harry’s fingers were pushing Draco’s hair away from his face, Draco’s lips were moving slowly against his own – it was beautiful – and his toothbrush almost clattered to the floor, abandoned.  He could feel it all so intensely – Draco’s little smile – his hands, so warm – his short, shallow breaths, and his body pressed flush against Harry’s –

 

                And then it was over, and the world was back, with its cool, smooth tiles under Harry’s feet.  The lamps above the sink shone with a warm, golden light, which seemed unnatural compared to the rest of the room – which was grey with the oncoming chill. 

 

                But Draco was smiling at him, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

 

“Dinner’s in five minutes,” Draco whispered. 

 

“Right,” Harry sighed.  “Do we – do we have to?” 

 

“It’s the plan.” 

 

“I know,” Harry gave a groan.  “I just…  I hate doing this to him.” 

 

                Draco pulled back a little.  His face was serious. 

 

“Me too,” he admitted.  “But it’s the only way we’ll ever get that fucker to drop his guard.” 

 

                Harry snorted. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” he said.  “I wish there was some other way, though.” 

 

“There would be, if he’d slipped up,” Draco muttered.  “Seriously, would it kill him?..  At least once?” 

 

“It’s an Eldritch.  Chances are, it would.” 

 

“True.”

 

                They stood still for a few more seconds, holding each other silently – but the old, heavy clock back in the room was ticking loudly, and they couldn’t really stay there any longer.  With a regretful sigh, Harry pulled away, and stuck his toothbrush back in the glass. 

 

“So, uh – dinner?” he suggested. 

 

“I suppose so,” Draco agreed, and stepped back as they tried to navigate their way around each other and out of the cramped bathroom. 

 

                They made it across the room, Harry pulling on his shoes on the way.  The large window already breathed with a chilly indigo as the night crept over the mountains, and only the castle held any spark of life in this evening. 

 

“God, I hate this,” Harry muttered to himself, stepping out into the corridor. 

 

“Hold on.” 

 

                Draco paused behind him, closing the door neatly and turning the key until it clicked.  The sound carried in it a certain reassuring finality – which meant virtually nothing in a castle where every room could be accessed by a secret passage.  Harry’s added a few extra spells to theirs, but then, if an Eldritch came barrelling through, they wouldn’t hold, anyway. 

 

                Which fucking sucked, because while he was certain the Eldritch wouldn’t do anything to him personally…  He somehow didn’t think that this odd friendship extended to Draco.  Why, though?.. 

 

                Who knew. 

 

 

 

                The stairs ended abruptly, and Harry shook his thoughts away.  He could already hear the voices gathering in the dining room, which shone like a golden rectangle of light across the darkened hall.  They were all talking animatedly – Modesty’s shrill little voice flouncing above all others. 

 

                He paused in front of the entrance, his hand resting on the door handle. 

 

“Ready?” he asked. 

 

                Draco nodded. 

 

“Ready,” he echoed, and Harry pushed open the door. 

 

                Every head turned immediately toward them – Dr.Bai, Charlotte, Credence – and he was further reinforced in his suspicions that this wasn’t a good idea at all.  It was, however, too late to turn back, and he accepted the burden, gritting his teeth. 

 

                He was going to fucking punch Adam in his smug innocent face. 

 

“Guys, uh – I’m sorry, but I think we’ll have to miss dinner tonight,” he said instead.  “Draco needs to catch a cab back to the city.” 

 

“You’re leaving?!”

 

                Modesty’s yelp rang out in the suddenly quiet room, and Harry winced internally at her expression of pure disappointment. 

 

“Yes,” Draco said quietly.  “I – I just got a call…  My mother is very sick.  I need to get back.”

 

                His voice was full of a genuine sorrow – the kind that was the envy of their entire Auror class. 

 

“Oh, no.  I’m so sorry,” Dr. Bai breathed, setting down her glass. 

 

                Draco gave a tight nod. 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“Damn, that’s rotten,” Adam sympathized, fixing his eyes on Draco.  Harry thought they looked particularly steely.  “What’s wrong with her?” 

 

“Her – her lungs aren’t that good,” Draco said, pain filling his expression.  “It’s always been a condition, but now, it’s…” 

 

                He fell silent, and Adam nodded, his face a mask of silent compassion. 

 

“So, I’ll…  I’ll go check myself out, I guess,” Draco continued, his voice grey.  “And, Harry – I’m sorry about this – the holiday getting cut short – ” 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said.  “Uh, you better hurry, the cab’s gonna be there in, like, twenty minutes…” 

 

“At the end of the road?” Jacob asked. 

 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed dully. 

 

                He cast a glance over the room – nodded at Modesty, who looked like she was on the verge of tears – and left, not even bothering to close the door behind him in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion. 

 

                Harry sighed, and turned to the rest. 

 

“I’ll be packing our stuff now,” he told them.  “Uh, sorry about the dinner.” 

 

“It’s alright,” Queenie said softly – but her eyes were sharp, and Harry couldn’t help but remember her unusual talent.  “There are more important things in the world.” 

 

                Like a life – a life he now had a tiny chance of saving. 

 

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.  “And, uh, I’ll go as soon as that’s done.  So, I guess I came to say goodbye.” 

 

“You’re – you’re leaving, too?..” 

 

                Credence’s voice was barely audible, and Harry cursed Adam and this entire case for what must’ve been the fiftieth time that day.  Why did this have to be so difficult?..  Sure, Adam would buy it better if everybody else was also convinced that he was leaving – but still, why did it have to happen like this?.. 

 

“Yeah.  Draco – he needs me now…  I’m – I’m sorry it’s like this.  I wish it’d turned out different.” 

 

“It’s – it’s alright,” Credence whispered. 

 

                His eyes flickered away, and Harry felt everything inside him clench. 

 

“I’ll come back,” he vowed.  “Next holiday I get.  Promise.” 

 

                As he turned and left the room, he pressed his finger to the small charm on his bracelet. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“I really fucking hate this,” Harry muttered under his breath, as he rushed about the room with his wand. 

 

                He hung a new detection charm just above the door, and sighed.  It still didn’t seem like enough.  Draco glanced at him over a thick, tattered file. 

 

“Look, Harry, I know this isn’t ideal, but – ”

 

“He’s basically bait at this point!” 

 

“I know,” Draco sighed, flipping the file closed and reaching for another one.  “Which is why you’re going over to his room in a few, we’re keeping this under control…” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

 

                Harry considered adding more charms – except he couldn’t think of any new ones, and layers could sometimes impede functionality, and –

 

                He flopped down onto the bed, and let his fingers tangle in his hair dejectedly. 

 

“I just can’t believe we’re actually doing something so risky,” he mumbled.  “It’s – it’s just not something we _do_ , you know?..” 

 

“I know.” 

 

                Harry sighed.  This was probably exactly why Robards always kept on and on about maintaining a certain emotional distance to the cases and everybody involved.  That was something Harry gleefully failed to do since day one – but his outcomes were generally acceptable anyway, so he didn’t bother with such advice.  It didn’t matter. 

 

                Until now. 

 

                Now, he was friends with Credence, who was caught in a storm nobody could control, in a legend that was being forced into reality, in a case that could turn from meaningless magical surges to murder – and it was tearing him apart with worry. 

 

“Do you think it will be alright?” he heard himself asking.  His voice was weaker than he’d hoped, and next to him, Draco set his papers aside. 

 

“Yes,” he said, and Harry let his head fall to Draco’s shoulder. 

 

“Hm.” 

 

                Draco shifted a little, and Harry felt his arm settle around him.  There was something infinitely warm about the simple, comforting gesture – he felt somehow better, even though his limbs still vibrated with an internal demand for action.  Apprehension still coursed through his very blood, and his mind was rushing through every unfortunate scenario it could picture – but at least Draco was here. 

 

                With him. 

 

                The clock shivered, and ticked to half-past-seven – marking the customary end of the evening meal downstairs.  Harry glared at it. 

 

“It’s almost time for your shift,” Draco said quietly. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

                Harry pushed himself up reluctantly, and pulled out his wand again, casting a few testing spells. 

 

“Okay.  Uh, I’m going…  Keep an eye on the map.  I’ll cast a red if I need backup.” 

 

                Draco Summoned a pen from the desk, and picked up another article. 

 

“Noted.” 

 

“Anti-Apparition Wards?” 

 

“Up and running.” 

 

“Great – okay, that’s it, I think…”  Harry cast another anxious glance over the room, and, failing to notice anything out of place, turned to the door.  “See ya.” 

 

“Stay alive.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

                Harry grinned as he pulled open the door.  Some things just never changed – and their little parting speech was apparently one of those things, which was beautiful –

 

“Aren’t you gonna kiss goodbye?” demanded a high-pitched voice, and he nearly pissed his pants. 

 

“Modesty!” 

 

                Harry’s body reacted faster than he did himself.  He grabbed Modesty’s arm, and dragged her into the room, barely managing to scan the corridor behind her for any other presences.  It was blissfully empty, and he heaved a sigh of relief before rounding over to glare at her. 

 

“Ah.  Modesty.  Good evening,” Draco nodded formally from his perch on the bed.  “What are you doing wandering the castle at this hour?” 

 

                Harry was suddenly reminded of Hogwarts, and decided that poor McGonagall was going to have her hands full next year.  And there was everybody worrying about the Thomas-Finnegan kid. 

 

                Meanwhile, Draco was waiting for an answer, having fixed Modesty with a pointed stare.  

 

“What’re you doing still here?” she challenged back. 

 

                Poor McGonagall. 

 

                They stared at each other for a moment, and then Draco caved. 

 

“Research,” he said.  “Now, you better start talking – actually, no, what am I even saying – Harry, can you call Dr. Bai – ”

 

“Nonono, _please!_ ” Modesty piped up immediately.  “I just wanted to see how the investigation is going – you don’t tell me _anything_ – pretty please?” 

 

                Draco wrinkled his nose. 

 

“Pretty please?” 

 

“With a cherry on top,” Modesty confirmed. 

 

“It’s late – ”

 

“My curfew’s not until nine,” she added proudly. 

 

“Awesome.  You’re a big girl now and all that shi – stuff,” Harry grunted.  “You could’ve exposed our entire mission.  Do you realize that?” 

 

“Oh…  Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. 

 

                Draco groaned, and was about to say something, when he suddenly stopped.  He stared in front of him, unmoving, for a second, and then took a deep breath. 

 

“Okay, uh – how about this,” he began.  “You stay here, and avoid jeopardizing this investigation any further.  I tell you everything you want to know, I need to bounce my ideas off something anyway…  And _you_ don’t tell a single soul, living or dead, that I am in this room right now.” 

 

                Harry blinked, as Modesty nodded violently. 

 

“Wait, but – shouldn’t she go back to her room?..” 

 

“I’m not sure about that,” Draco shook his head.  “I – I don’t think the castle is safe now that we’re, uh, _gone_.  His hands are untied, and he doesn’t seem to care about collateral damage.” 

 

                Harry nodded slowly. 

 

“You’re right,” he said.  “What’s one little kid when…” 

 

                He broke off, chewing his lip.  Draco sighed, and motioned for Modesty to move, before setting his papers down. 

 

“Get a chair and sit down,” he commanded.  “You’re standing in the paperway otherwise…  And Harry – it’s been five minutes since the end of dinner.  You should hurry.” 

 

“Right.” 

 

                Harry shot him a two-fingered salute, and left the room – just as Modesty finally scrambled onto the heavy oaken chair in front of the desk, with an expression of absolute ecstasy on her face. 

 

 

 

                He strode hastily down the corridor, almost sprinting by the time he reached the dark reception hall – barely braking in front of the door to the North Wing.  Was it right – no, _left_ –

 

                The dining room still glowed with its welcoming light behind him, but the rest of the castle already stood still and quiet.  Rain rustled outside, and wind was rising, but they were completely unheard in the central halls, where Harry was now headed – muffled entirely by the hulking stone.  The silence was only disturbed by the uneven sound of his own footfalls, but even they were dulled by the carpets. 

 

                The yellow lamps that lined the corridors seemed eerie now that he was alone in their web.  They shone steadily, identical in their shape and in their surroundings as he passed by, and then greeted him again as he turned the corner.  They seemed wrong. 

 

                There was one more turn –

 

“Bingo.” 

 

                Pushing open a creaky door, Harry burst into the spacious marble hall at the centre of the North Wing, and made a beeline for the staircase.  His footfalls rang clearly, echoing through the cavernous room as he charged, leaping, up the spiraling steps, and he tried to move a little lighter.  It was difficult, and heavy breaths tore at his chest, but he didn’t dare slow down. 

 

                With a stabbing roar in his side, he made it to the top of the stairs, and took a second to slow his breathing.  He wouldn’t be any use in a fight if he was out of breath anyway – and he was almost there. 

 

                Leaning a little on the door handle, Harry turned it, and allowed himself to approach Credence’s corridor at a slower pace, rounding the repeating, familiar corners.  He heaved a deep breath, finally feeling his heart rate settle –

 

                And then it burst forward in a rush of adrenaline-fueled speed, because he wasn’t alone.  For one, extremely confusing and terrifying moment, Harry stared ahead of him, towards Credence’s door – where an irritated-looking Jacob was tapping his foot on the floor. 

 

“ _Jacob?_ ” he finally squeezed out. 

 

                His gut screamed in protest. 

 

                Jacob started and turned around. 

 

“Oh, it’s you,” he said disdainfully, his moustache drooping in disappointment.  “You’re still here.” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry said blankly.  “Uh – I came to say goodbye to Credence – why’re you here?” 

 

“Why am _I_ here?” Jacob let out a bitter guffaw.  “Oh, I’ll tell you – we just got fired, that’s why!” 

 

“What?” 

 

                Harry thought he hadn’t felt so confused even in his Divination classes.  And Trelawney never even tried to make sense since the day she was born.    

 

“Yeah – that’s right, me and Queenie, fired!” Jacob confirmed with an indignant huff.  “I don’t even know why, I just came back to our room and he’d sent us a note.  A _note_ – can you believe that?” 

 

“A note saying that you were fired?” 

 

“I don’t understand it,” Jacob sighed.  His big fingers fidgeted with the offending note as he talked.  His voice grew quieter.  “I thought – I thought this was going great, you know?..  We were practically friends.  And now…  It’s like he didn’t even care to tell us what went wrong.” 

 

                Harry frowned. 

 

“He didn’t tell you – didn’t show in person?” 

 

“No…” Jacob shook his head, sagging a little.  “So, uh, yeah – that’s it, and we’re supposed to be out of the castle tomorrow afternoon.  I came up to ask why, but he’s not even answering the door.” 

 

“Not – ”

 

                _He’s not answering the door_.  Not answering the door.  Not answering the door… 

 

                The words rushed through Harry’s brain in a dark swarm, as the last puzzle piece clicked into place – and his blood ran cold. 

 

“The note – was it typed?” he demanded, rounding on Jacob. 

 

“What – oh.  Yeah.  Matter of fact, it was,” Jacob said confusedly, passing him the single sheet of paper. 

 

                Harry barely glanced at it, before stuffing it in his pocket.  His fingers clenched around his wand. 

 

“Stand back,” he ordered.  “We’re breaking down the door.  _Bombarda!_ ” 

 

 

 

                The door flew off its hinges, and into the room, as Harry barged in, followed closely by a rather dazed and increasingly concerned Jacob.  It bounced awkwardly on the uneven floor, and toppled on the empty bed in a final burst of drama. 

 

                Its crash was a singular note in an otherwise impeccable silence.  The room was deserted – and not a single piece of furniture was out of place.  The curtains in the small window were drawn, and the rickety straw chair stood neatly in its customary position by the desk.  Everything was quiet. 

 

                There was not a sign of movement. 

 

“He’s – he’s not here,” Jacob said, stumbling as he glanced around.  “But…  He went back to his room after dinner – what’s happened to him?” 

 

“Nothing good,” Harry said curtly, dropping on his fours and glancing under the bed.  “I – I think I know where to look, though.” 

 

                He got up, and crossed the room – stopping in front of the closet door.  It stood there, facing him – even, polished wood, dark and unassuming – and, curling his fingers around the handle, he slid it aside, to blink at a neat row of hanging clothes.  Grunting with frustration, he shoved these away as well –

 

“Of course,” he sighed.  “Where else would it be?..” 

 

                In front of him, the stale, mould-ridden darkness of a narrow passage extended on, into the stony depths of Barebone Castle.  The ceiling was low, and he couldn’t see further than a few paces in.  Past that point, even the dust melted into nothing. 

 

                Gritting his teeth, he turned back to Jacob. 

 

“Hey, uh – so, this is important,” he said, thinking quickly – and hoping that his voice would carry every bit of urgency necessary.  “I need your help.  You must go to Draco’s room – he’ll be there, don’t worry about that – tell him it’s happened.  Credence is gone, and I’m going after him, I’ll cast a red when I need backup – tell him to be ready.  The legend’s unwinding, fast.” 

 

                Jacob nodded. 

 

“I’ll go now,” he said.  “And, Harry – get him back safe.  Please.” 

 

“I will.” 

 

                Jacob squeezed out something resembling a smile, but it was neither grateful nor reassuring.  He turned around, and hurried out of the splintered doorway.  His footsteps soon faded, and then the door slammed at the end of the corridor. 

 

                Harry turned back to face the passage.  He’d decided already that he hated the sight of it – but it was what it was – right there in front of him, mocking – and Credence was somewhere at the end – so he couldn’t wait for Draco to arrive.  This fight was his.  He promised, didn’t he?..  And his bracelet charm was now burning, calling to him –

 

                Almost feeling Petunia’s vice-like grip on his scruff, and her long nails grazing the back of his neck, Harry gritted his teeth and did what he’d vowed never to do again. 

 

                He stepped into the closet. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, guys - epilogue to follow tomorrow! Everything is falling into place.

* * *

 

 

“And, of course, the rest of the findings simply make no sense without a definite source,” Draco concluded grandly, and decided it was time for an important pause. 

 

“But didn’t you say there was a source?” Modesty piped up from her chair.  Her eyes were following him as he paced across the room.  “The _Eld-ritch?_ ” 

 

               She pronounced the word carefully, and then shot an inquiring glance at Draco, who did his best to look proud of this accomplishment. 

 

“Correct,” he assured her, giving his pen a final twirl before flipping back through his notebook.  “I did say that – however, that was a working theory.  I have another.” 

 

               Modesty was sitting at the edge of her chair.  She looked like she would’ve bounced up and down with the excitement, if it wasn’t for her raging compulsion to be a Big Girl, and Draco felt a smirk tugging at his mouth.  It was, after all, unbelievably flattering – just the idea that someone was so happy to listen to him talk.  Especially since even trained Aurors normally chose to avoid his lectures. 

 

“Throughout this case, I have noted – time and time again – that the magical force we are dealing with is highly emotional.  It is almost _sensitive_ , it feels pain, loneliness, and rage – and, amidst of all that, love.” 

 

               Modesty giggled. 

 

“ _Looove?_ ”

 

“Absolutely,” Draco nodded, turning on his heel, and resuming his course to the other side of the room.  “It is capable of deep, genuine friendship that at times overpowers everything else, even its otherwise unbridled anger.  That – that is love.” 

 

“Oh,” she hummed, and nodded sagely. 

 

               Draco smiled.  Modesty was truly a wonderful person. 

 

“Yes.  And this…  This stands in the way of our current explanation,” he said.  “To summarize – on one hand, we have a theory of an Eldritch.  A being beyond the scope of human comprehension, its motives unfathomable – not understandable.  These beings simply do not exist on the same psychological plane as we do, and thus – they’re incapable of truly identifying and relating to us.” 

 

“Ppfftt,” said Modesty.  She was wearing an expression of utmost contempt. 

 

               Draco frowned. 

 

“What?” 

 

“They don’t sound nice,” she explained, and he nodded. 

 

“They’re not.  You can’t be friends with one, so – just a warning – don’t even try.” 

 

“You said Harry was friends with the one in London.” 

 

“No, I didn’t,” Draco grunted.  “It – it wasn’t really friendship – not the way you think.” 

 

“Then what was it?” she demanded, and Draco groaned. 

 

“I don’t know – it doesn’t matter, okay?  Off topic,” he said, waving his hand.  “Point is – that, back in London, _that_ was an Eldritch.  What we’re dealing with now is completely different.  It’s lonely, it’s vulnerable – it’s been growing steadily vicious – basically, it is comprised of raw emotion.  And that…  That changes everything.” 

 

“How?” 

 

               Draco tore a page out of his notebook, and sighed. 

 

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, and sent the paper flying across the room, toward the desk.  It hovered above it for a second, and then dropped into an open folder.  “Alright, you can open.” 

 

               Modesty peeked from between her fingers, and lowered her hands primly into her lap. 

 

“How does the emotion thingy change everything?” she repeated. 

 

               Draco chewed on his lip before answering. 

 

“Well, you see,” he said, and paused, formulating.  “To be made of so much feeling – to just have all these things inside you – at your core, you would have to be human.” 

 

               A particularly violent gust of wind rattled past just as he fell silent, and Draco glanced toward the window.  It was completely dark outside – his own dull reflection gazed back at him from the glass, tinted by the lighting – and beyond, a wall of rain was pummeling the grounds.  The downpour had been getting heavier for the past half-hour, and now it seemed to have reached its final peak, holding the entire world under its falling mass. 

 

               Draco gave a scoff as he studied the yellowing reflected room.  He couldn’t deny that somewhere in the back of his mind, he was awed by such tremendous forces of nature – but in the front of it, he was glad to be hidden away from them.   

 

               Comfort was a priceless thing. 

 

“But…  What do you mean?” Modesty finally spoke up.  “That – that it’s a _person_ doing all that?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“But _how_?” she whined, demanding the information, and then broke off.  “Wait – do you _know_?” 

 

“I think I’ve figured it out,” Draco nodded.  “It’s almost ironic, though – the whole thing started with a legend, and now it’s ending with a fairy tale…  Or, something I thought was a fairy tale.  When I was a kid.” 

 

“But it’s real?” Modesty breathed in delight. 

 

“Oh, it’s real.  And it’s a horror story, Modesty.” 

 

“Awesome!” 

 

“Not exactly,” Draco corrected.  “You see, some things lose their charm when they happen For Real.  They affect too much, they hurt too many…  And this is one of them.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

               Modesty’s grin drooped.  Draco sighed. 

 

“It does make for a good bedtime story,” he allowed.  He walked over to the desk and slid his notebook into the file.  “A proper scary one – my father certainly thought so.” 

 

“Tell it, tell it, tell it!” Modesty lost the battle with her internal turmoil, and bounced on the chair, her face alight with excitement. 

 

               Draco chuckled. 

 

“Alright.  I was going to, anyway – technically, at this point, it’s evidence,” he told her.  “Or background research, either one.” 

 

“Yess!” she whooped, and nearly fell off the chair, earning herself a glare. 

 

“Alright, settle down – ” 

 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she huffed, and wiggled around a little more before sitting still. 

 

               Draco smiled, and crossed over to sit on the bed in front of her. 

 

“Well then,” he began, growing serious again.  “This…  This is the story of an Obscurus.” 

 

               A blast of thunder echoed his words, and the entire room seemed to shiver with its dark, unwitting significance.  Modesty’s eyes were wide. 

 

“Back in the old days – before wizards went underground, when we were still being hunted by Muggles,” Draco clarified, catching Modesty’s questioning stare –  “Young witches and wizards sometimes tried to suppress their magic to avoid persecution…” 

 

               He could remember listening to the story himself – terrified of the idea.  Magic was part of you, wasn’t it?..  You couldn’t force it back, that’s not how magic _worked_ … 

 

“You see, magic – if you have it, magic is always within you, in some shape or form.  It may be dormant, and for some, it may manifest late, but it’s there.  Always ready to burst out.  If you’re free to experiment with it, you will eventually bring it under control, so that you consciously choose to release it – basically, it’s bound to your will.” 

 

“Like yours?” Modesty piped up. 

 

“Like mine,” Draco agreed.  “And like yours – though you still have a long way to go.” 

 

“At Hogwarts?” 

 

“Yes,” he nodded.  “But imagine you couldn’t do that.  If you were punished, harshly, for any time you used it – for all those times something inexplicable happened because of you – what would happen then?” 

 

               The rain clattered on the glass, as if it was trying to claw its way in. 

 

“It used to happen often.  These children were hurt, and scared – so they tried to push their magic down.  They didn’t use it, they hated it – so, instead of learning to harness or to control their powers, they developed what was called an Obscurus…” 

 

               He Summoned some papers back from the desk. 

 

“It’s a Dark, malevolent force.  But at the same time, all it really is – is magic breaking free…  In a way, it’s the manifestation of all the pain and anger you would feel in such a position.” 

 

“Raw emotion,” Modesty blurted excitedly, and Draco nodded. 

 

“Exactly.  So, you can imagine what it’s like.  When an Obscurus bursts out, it generally rampages around the place, targeting whatever and whoever has tried to hurt it – it lives on its instincts.  Colossal destructive power – born from the pain of a child…  And then, afterwards, it retreats.  Back inside you, back to being repressed.  Back to being hidden so deeply that it’s impossible to tell if this child has any magic at all.” 

 

               Modesty frowned. 

 

“I thought you could scan them.” 

 

“I can.  But it wouldn’t work.  They stopper their magic so well that often, Obscurials were mistaken for Squibs – people born from magic with none of their own.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yes, exactly.  Oh,” Draco said.  “Not a pleasant concept, of course.  When I first heard it, I thought it was just a scary story about scary Muggles – a sort of cautionary tale my father made up.  Except years later, when I was in my third year, Professor Binns gave us an essay to do for the summer – ” 

 

“Ew,” Modesty grimaced sympathetically.  “Binns is the ghost one, right?” 

 

“Right.  He teaches History of Magic – and that year, we were all supposed to write a scroll or two about the history of witch hunts.  So off I go, bright-eyed young boy, digging through the library at the Manor in search of first-hand accounts and documentation, because for once, I wanted to be top of the class instead of Harry’s nerd friend Granger…” 

 

               Modesty snorted. 

 

“War of the Nerds,” she muttered, and Draco glared. 

 

“You’re a nerd, too.  You have no right to talk.” 

 

“So?” she cast him a superior look.  “I’m a _cool_ nerd.” 

 

“Okay.  Do you even want to hear the story?” Draco raised his eyebrows, and Modesty nodded enthusiastically, shifting to sit up straighter.  “Good.  Anyway, while I was conducting my research, I happened upon a compilation of writings from all around the globe – all accounts of Obscurus attacks.  Some first-hand, some given as interviews with Muggles, all kinds of things.  And to me, it was like an existential crisis.”

 

“What – ”

 

“It means my worldview was flipped upside down,” he explained, and she nodded.  “It was all real, you see.  The number of such accounts dwindled as history progressed, but nevertheless, they existed – can you imagine?  Obscurials were real.” 

 

“Like dragons!”

 

“More like werewolves, if anything,” Draco sighed.  “But I digress.  Point is, they existed, and continued to exist – even though they were believed to be, well, _extinct_ by the time the 1920s rolled around.  But then, Newt Scamander discovered one in Sudan, thus exposing the truth.  Obscurials never went away – because our modern world never stopped children from suffering.” 

 

               He paused, gathering his thoughts, as the storm raged outside.  Modesty waited patiently for him to speak, only bouncing a little. 

 

“After that, it still took decades for the scientific community to accept them.  Back then, it was believed that an Obscurus was a parasite, feeding off the internalized magic of such children,” Draco said quietly.  “That was wrong.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“Because it’s not a parasite,” he shrugged.  “It’s magic itself, albeit twisted.” 

 

               Modesty wrinkled her nose. 

 

“Why did they think that, then?”  

 

“People used to think that mental illnesses are caused by demons, but they’re not, are they?  I think – it’s because we just don’t like admitting that unpleasant things sometimes have a human cause.  That they’re part of us.  So, we blame other things, dehumanize the problem.  That’s all.” 

 

“That’s dumb.” 

 

“It is,” Draco agreed.  “Outside of science, Obscurials are still ignored.  Which, of course, doesn’t stop them from existing.” 

 

               Thunder rumbled behind the window, and the lights gave a terrified flicker.  Draco glared at them.  He would really prefer not to resort to primitive candlelight now – despite having illuminated his entire childhood, candles did have that disadvantage of being rather dim.  Not to mention the fire hazards…

 

               He set his writing aside, just in case. 

 

“So, it’s an Obscurus?” Modesty asked.  “That thing in the castle right now?” 

 

“Yes,” Draco nodded.  “I believe so.” 

 

“But then,” she said slowly, and stopped.  “Then – it has to be one of us.  Somebody.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“But…  It’s not me!  And everybody else is grownups – ” 

 

“Are you sure it’s not you?” Draco raised his eyebrows, and she nodded vehemently.  “I think so, too.  That does rid us of the most likely suspect, don’t you think?” 

 

“I’m an _honorary detective_ ,” Modesty told him.  “Not a suspect.” 

 

“Would’ve been one he – heck of a plot twist,” Draco muttered, and sighed.  “Just kidding.  I know you’re not an Obscurial, I can sense your magic and it’s perfectly healthy.” 

 

“But then how – ” 

 

“I believe the commonly spread idea of an Obscurial’s short lifespan to be…  Well, not quite correct,” he said.  “Given enough power and enough luck, is it so irrational to suppose that one could’ve survived into adulthood?  Maybe if their environment changed – or something similar.  In most cases, it’s the child’s treatment that causes their death.  Not magic.” 

 

               There was a brief pause. 

 

“Wait, they – they _die?_ ” Modesty whispered, horrified. 

 

“Often when they’re young,” Draco nodded.  “But I think this one survived.  It’s strong.” 

 

“So, who…” 

 

               She broke off, staring at her feet.  Draco twirled his pen in his fingers. 

 

“This is where we usually start drawing up a profile,” he hinted. 

 

“Uhuh.  So, like, the description of what we know, right?” 

 

“Precisely.  And then we compare it to the people we know,” Draco told her.  “Thus, think!  The person we’re looking for is extremely sensitive – they’ll likely be kind, but isolated.  If the Obscurus is causing those magical surges, they must’ve been in the castle for the past thirteen years.  If their power is massive enough to scramble all our diagnostics, I wouldn’t know anything about them – magically speaking.  And, finally – they care, intensely, for Harry…” 

 

               Modesty was silent as she sat there, picking at the skin around her nails.  Then she tensed – and looked up, eyes widening as comprehension dawned on her face. 

 

“It’s…”

 

               She broke off, her mouth moving silently. 

 

“Obvious,” Draco said quietly.  “There is only one person it could be.” 

 

 

 

               They shared the ringing silence.  Only the rain rustled outside, and Draco suddenly regretted the theatrics he’d put into the final statement.  Perhaps he should’ve administered the truth some other way. 

 

“Draco…” Modesty spoke, and her voice was shaking.  “But – if he’s an – an Obscurial – does that mean he’ll die?..” 

 

               Draco breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“No,” he said.  “No, he won’t – he’s survived this much already, hasn’t he?  That means he’s learned to work with this condition somehow.  I wouldn’t know any specifics, but he’s not going to die, not any time soon, Modesty – ” 

 

               A knock interrupted his words, and he broke off, staring at the door. 

 

“Well.  That’s…  Unexpected,” he muttered, as he got up. 

 

“Maybe Harry’s back?” Modesty offered, but he waved her off. 

 

“No – he wouldn’t leave the target unattended, it’s too risky…” 

 

“Draco!  You in there?  Harry said you would be – open up!” Jacob’s voice called out, and Draco frowned. 

 

“Okay,” he decided.  “Something’s wrong – Modesty, stand back, just in case – ” 

 

               His fingers clenching around his wand, he crossed the room, and pulled the door open.  Behind it, Jacob indeed stood – his face red and agitated, despite the relief it showed at seeing Draco. 

 

“Draco – great, you’re here – listen, Credence is gone!” he burst out, and Draco froze. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Kidnapped!  Gone, through this passage in his closet – Harry’s gone after him,” Jacob told him, his sides still heaving after running.  “Said to come fetch you – ”

 

“He’s gone after him?” Draco demanded harshly.  “Alone?..” 

 

“Yeah – listen, I think you should hurry, I don’t know what’s going on but – ” 

 

“Merlin, that _idiot_ ,” Draco groaned, and rushed over across the room, to his kit of medicinal potions – it was under the bed, wasn’t it?..  “Okay, Jacob – since you’re here – get Modesty, and Dr. Bai too, and – and Charlotte – take them over to yours and Queenie’s, you’ll be safe with wards and a witch – ” 

 

“Can do,” Jacob nodded.  “Modesty – ” 

 

“Here!” 

 

“Stay with me,” he said gravely, and she nodded. 

 

               Draco finished looking through his kit, and stood up, heading to the door. 

 

“Stay safe,” he dropped over his shoulder, and plunged into the deserted corridors of Barebone Castle. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

               The light of Harry’s wand was pale and thus all the more unsettling as it skipped over the stone.  Its silver patch glinted off a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, and he fought the urge to sneeze, hurrying down the narrow corridor – which went on and on.  It seemed endless. 

 

               He could only hope that Credence wasn’t badly harmed.  His room didn’t look like the scene of a fight – so there was none – and no resistance, combined with the lack of a corpse, meant that he was still alive and well…  Or as well as he could be in this situation.  But that was good – frankly, alive was enough!  If Credence was at least alive, there was still a chance, a hope – something. 

 

               Harry rounded the corner, and tried not to think of any alternatives.  His bracelet was still warm – so Credence was alive.  There was simply no other way. 

 

               The corridor went on – except now his shaky _Lumos_ wasn’t the only light on its walls, he noticed suddenly.  There was also a steady, yellow sheen – like a lightbulb –

 

“ _Muffliato_ ,” he muttered, and quickened his pace. 

 

               His footfalls echoed, dulled only by the dust, and amplified tenfold by the pesky, but unfortunately highly useful charm.  The corridor was now wider – and there was more of the same yellow light streaming in from somewhere up ahead, so the target had to be near. 

 

               This thought was immediately confirmed.  The wand’s tip turned a vivid red, and Harry scrambled to dispel it, before the glow was seen.  He’d forgotten that _Lumos_ may feed into the detection charms. 

 

               With a final, frantic _Nox_ , he gave a sigh of relief and peeked out from behind a corner. 

 

               The corridor ended with a tall, arching doorway.  It opened into a circular room – which appeared to be situated somewhere in one of the towers.  It seemed relatively clean, compared to the passage that led there – almost lived-in, and there was a table standing by one of the windows, with two lamps on it.  Harry squinted at it, and frowned.  It was piled high with makeup products. 

 

               Next to the table stood a heavy wooden chair, with what looked like a heap of clothes hanging on its back.  The seat was occupied by a wig – a thick wig of long dark hair – and a tall candle, set in a gilded holder with a curling handle –

 

               Like that creepy dead woman was holding, Harry’s mind added, and he blinked.  Okay. 

 

               Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he shrank back, before peeking out again to glance into that direction.  That side of the room was dark, and his eyes took some time to adjust – but then they did, and his heart leaped. 

 

               A large niche, almost like a second room itself, extended out from the furthest wall, poorly lit and musty.  And there, Credence was sitting on the floor in the corner, curled in on himself.  His wrists and his feet were tied, and he was trembling.  His face was wet. 

 

               Harry was about to run to him –

 

“Oh, you’re not still whining, are you?..” came a dismissive, loud voice, and Harry jerked back behind the wall.  “You were always so quiet – I say stick to it.” 

 

               A figure stepped into the room, from another doorway Harry hadn’t noticed before, and strolled lazily over to the table.  A young man – he bent down to study himself in the mirror, patted his hair, giving a satisfied hum – and turned around. 

 

               Something in Harry’s head short-circuited, and left him staring.  It was Adam – except he didn’t look like Adam at all.  His hair was now dark, his beard gone – he’d changed his clothes, too, and there had to be foundation on his face, because he was never that pale. 

 

               In fact, he looked horribly, unbelievably, like Credence. 

 

 

 

               Credence shifted a little in his corner. 

 

“Adam…  Adam, please…” he mumbled. 

 

               Adam groaned. 

 

“Ugh, not more of your endless blabbering,” he complained.  “It was funny at first, I’ll grant you that – but the same thing, over and over?..  Gets a little tiresome, to tell the truth.” 

 

               Credence choked, sniffling.  Adam scoffed and turned back to the table. 

 

“Pfft.  Always so easy to impress, weren’t you?..” he mused, grinning into the mirror.  “God, your face when you saw me just now – it was gold, I swear.  Though your reaction to that ghost thing was the best.  A wig and some makeup, all it took, really…  But that’s talent for you.” 

 

               Behind the wall, Harry gritted his teeth.  Oblivious to his rage, Adam pulled out the table drawer, and rifled through the contents. 

 

“Ahh, the memories I’ve made at this place,” he hummed.  “See, I’ve got a photo album.  As a behaviour reference, it really works – but nothing compared to the real thing, of course.” 

 

               He glanced over at Credence. 

 

“Look up at me?..  Good boy.  Man, you _are_ ugly, though – I mean, I know we have the same face, but I wear it better.  You’ve got that weird Burton thing going on.  _Nightmare Before Christmas_ or some shit.” 

 

“B-but…  Why?..” Credence whimpered.  “Why – why do you look like me?..” 

 

“Fuck if I know,” Adam shrugged.  “Was a surprise for me, too – just saw my face in the paper one day and nearly pissed my pants.  Thought it was pretty cool, except me-two-point-oh was a bloody loser.  Like, not to judge, but seriously?..  All this time I’ve been at the castle, not a single friend comes to visit – not even a _phone call_ , dude.  I don’t think anyone outside this place even knows what you look like, not really…  Which makes this _so_ much easier for me.” 

 

               He pulled a gun from the drawer, and turned around, straightening up. 

 

“Okay,” he said carefully.  “This is the way it’s gonna be from now on.  I am you.  And you…  You’re nothing.  But before I can claim my lands, and my money – I gotta know your passwords.  To everything – bank account, credit card, emails, whatever you’ve got.” 

 

“You can have them – Adam, just, just let me go – please…” 

 

               He grinned. 

 

“Fat chance.  I don’t want some creep crawling in the walls of _my_ castle with _my_ face – that’s just weird,” he said.  “So, you’re going to die.  All you can really decide at this point is how much exactly it will _hurt_.” 

 

“No, please!..  Adam, please – ” 

 

“Shut up!”

 

               There was a thump, and a whimper – Adam kicked Credence, and Harry saw red. 

 

               His fingers clenched around his wand themselves, and the next moment he knew, he was standing straight in the doorway – and then charging forward. 

 

“Three seconds to – ” Adam was saying lazily, when –

 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” 

 

               The gun flew from his hand, and Adam turned around, his eyes widening – but he didn’t even have time to scream.  The _Petrificus Totalus_ hit him square in the chest, and he collapsed to the floor with a wooden thud, like an old mannequin. 

 

               Harry glared at his motionless body, and breathed out. 

 

               Job done. 

 

“H-harry?..” 

 

               Credence’s voice was quiet, and shaky – and Harry whipped around, rushing to his side. 

 

“Yes – it’s me, Credence, I’m here…” 

 

               It took one slicing motion of his wand to get rid of the ropes on Credence’s wrists.  A second freed his ankles, and Harry grinned. 

 

“See?..  All done.  I’m here.  And you’re alive – Merlin, you’re alive,” he almost laughed, crouching down in front of him to cast a few healing spells – they weren’t as good as Draco’s, but all Credence really had was a bunch of scrapes.  They’d do. 

 

               He was staring at Harry with a disbelieving wonder. 

 

“You’re…  Y-you’re here,” he breathed, his voice still wet with tears, and Harry smiled. 

 

“I promised, didn’t I?”

 

“I know…  I – I just – ” he mumbled, trailing off.  “You’re here…” 

 

“I’m here,” Harry confirmed, grinning. 

 

               Credence was almost smiling – when suddenly, his eyes widened, and fear took over his face again as he looked over Harry’s shoulder.   

 

“Harry – ” 

 

               Harry turned around, snapping his fingers as fast as he could – just before the gunshot went off, deafeningly loud in the small, round room. 

 

               He got up.  Adam stood facing him, a grimace of hatred on his face and the gun back in his hand – free of any paralysis whatsoever.  Harry’s shield hung between them, like a glass wall, having deflected the bullet.  For a moment, Harry felt safe – and wondered if his wand was faulty after all. 

 

               It wasn’t, he realized a second later – when his shield gave a wobble, and a web of silver sparks began spreading over it, like an infection.  It was corroding, the same way Draco’s did at the Fairy Gate, and his Body-Bind corroded the same way, freeing Adam.  He looked smug now, and Harry suddenly felt exposed.  Magic wasn’t quite working – charms fizzled out, and hexes were weak –

 

               Adam’s finger rested on the trigger, and Harry didn’t think long before tackling him. 

 

“You fucking freak,” Adam grunted, trying to push him off and almost succeeding.  “I knew you weren’t a hiker, you – !”

 

“Shut up,” Harry told him, and threw a punch. 

 

               Every hit he landed felt like a victory overdue.  He could’ve used his wandless, and the fight was less than unnecessary, but somehow, it was exactly what Harry had wanted to do for days – so there he was, beating the shit out of Adam with his bare fists. 

 

               If he could only land this one…  

 

               With a sound that was almost a roar, Adam threw him off.  Harry scrambled to his feet, but Adam was quicker – he rushed across the room, to where Harry managed to kick his gun –

 

               When it suddenly flew out of his reach. 

 

               It was almost comical, really.  Harry had a fleeting thought that Adam’s dumbstruck face was a sight he’d like to remember for as long as he lived, and he was almost ready to accept the whole thing.  The only problem was, he wasn’t the one doing it, and that was odd. 

 

“What the – ” 

 

               Adam tried to reach for the gun again, and it leaped away once more. 

 

               He screamed something in frustration, but the sound trailed off as the room began to shake, and he fell to his knees.  Dust fell from the ceiling, and Harry coughed, trying to get up himself. 

 

               That was a great time for an earthquake.  Did Eldritch beings affect tectonics as well, or was it just the building?..  He should ask Hermione. 

 

“Harry,” called a tensely calm voice, and he glanced up. 

 

               Draco was standing in the doorway, his wand still flickering with a corroding _Lumos_. 

 

“Draco,” Harry gasped with relief, and pushed himself up to stand.  “Careful with the magic – the Eldritch is nearby…” 

 

“It’s not an Eldritch,” Draco cut him off. 

 

“What?” 

 

“It’s not an Eldritch,” he repeated.  “We just didn’t realize, but it’s been here all along – it’s – ” 

 

               The rest of his sentence was lost as the tremors rocked the floor again – this time reaching to the very foundations of the tower.  Angry, vicious cracks ran along the walls, right through the heavy stone, like a dark web of damage.  Draco’s eyes were grave – and slowly, Harry turned around. 

 

               Credence had gotten up.  His shoulders were still hunched, and he was looking down, but despite this, he seemed to vibrate with an unspoken power as he stood, framed by the entrance to the niche. 

 

“Credence,” Harry breathed.  “But – but you’re not – ” 

 

               Adam growled as he tried to lunge at Harry again, but an invisible force knocked him off his feet, and swept him up, slamming him into the wall – and he screamed in pain. 

 

               Harry was staring at Credence – confounded – but Credence’s eyes were locked on Adam. 

 

“I…  I thought you were different,” Credence said quietly.  His voice was weak, and he sniffled.  “I thought you were my _friend_ …” 

 

“Well, I was, wasn’t I?” Adam snapped.  “I was more than you’ve ever had.” 

 

               He finally found his way back to his feet, but didn’t dare move. 

 

               Credence’s hands were shaking. 

 

“Y-you lied to me,” he mumbled.  “All this time – all – all of it was – ” 

 

               He looked away, tears in his eyes.  A sob rocked through him, and a new web of cracks ran along the floor, cutting deep.  The tower shook again, violently –

 

“Credence, what are you doing?” Adam’s voice was fearful.  “What are you – stop it!” 

 

               Slowly, Credence looked up. 

 

               A new anger – quiet and terrifying – was set in his tear-stained face, and it was like black ice. 

 

“What if I don’t want to?..” he whispered. 

 

 

 

               A dark smoke erupted from Credence’s body as his eyes went white.  They weren’t human – they couldn’t possibly be human – and in the moment that followed, neither was he.  A living storm was raging in the middle of a small tower room, ripping through stone and wood, and its continuous screech hung in the air, like a memory of pain itself.  It was furious – terrible –

 

               And charging directly towards Adam with an unspeakable ferocity. 

 

               Lightning shivered within it as Adam screamed, lifted from his feet, and thrown against the stone, time and time again.  The table was knocked over, and the chair ripped apart, smashing into the window, until the wind beyond it roared with an echo to the one inside.  Thunder crackled in the air, and the storm howled back, its voice mad. 

 

               In a final bout of fury, it dragged Adam’s limp, unconscious body to the ceiling – and then streamed back through the arching doorway, and out of the room, letting it crash helplessly down. 

 

               He lay there, unmoving, as the storm’s screeches grew distant. 

 

               Harry got up from the floor, and took a moment to find his balance.  Blinking at the dust, and at the rain, which now poured in from the holes in the roof, he pulled Draco up as well. 

 

“Credence,” he muttered wonderingly.  “It – it was Credence…” 

 

“Yes,” Draco said quietly.  “I’m – I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.  In time.” 

 

               Harry blinked. 

 

“It’s alright,” he said.  “How did you know, anyway?” 

 

               Draco sighed. 

 

“He was too human,” he said. 

 

               Harry chewed on his lip as he took in the destruction strewn throughout the room. 

 

“I have to go after him.” 

 

“I know,” Draco nodded.  “I’ll deal with this joker here – just be careful, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Harry acknowledged. 

 

               He smiled – as best he could – and ran out into the corridor. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Credence!  Credence, wait!” 

 

               Harry was running down the narrow passage with no clue whatsoever as to where he was going.  His Tracing Charms didn’t work, and all he had to guide him was the sound of crumbling stone.  The dented walls served as a marked pathway of sorts – except the storm didn’t always collide with them, so he had to stay alert. 

 

               For a moment, he thought he’d recognized a place – but from there, a winding staircase plunged deep towards the ground, and he’d never seen it before.  The gash in the wall was a clear mark, however, and Harry almost hurtled down the steps. 

 

               A screech rang out somewhere below, and he tried to move faster. 

 

“Credence!” he called – and heard another wall being torn.  “Shit.” 

 

               He hurried on.  The air was becoming damp, and the distinct stench of mould hung over everything as the stairs descended into darkness.  Soon, Harry could see different hallways veering off to the sides of the staircase – he’d entered the dungeons of Barebone Castle. 

 

“Credence!” he called again. 

 

               His voice was met with a dead, empty silence.  Something twitched anxiously inside his chest.  That couldn’t be right, could it?..  He did his best to ignore it, and keep walking, even as the staircase ended, and stretched out into a chilly, cobweb-painted corridor. 

 

               The place did seem to be getting lighter, though.  Not enough to extinguish the sparks that were dancing on his fingers – but enough to notice the change, as well as the light caress of wind that brushed against his face.  There must be a window… 

 

               There were definitely more stairs, Harry thought, as he paused in front of a fork.  The left passage was slightly damaged, and bits of rock lay strewn on the floor – so he followed it, further on down. It curved a little – and he wasn’t sure what he’ll see at the end. 

 

               He barely had time to worry about that, when the stairs abruptly came to a stop. 

 

               Beyond the finish line, a spacious dungeon opened up.  Its ceiling was uneven, low and dark in some places, and almost soaring to the sky in others – there was a window somewhere up there, just near the ground and miles away from the floor.  A fresh gust of humid wind came tumbling from it, and Harry shook his head, trying to concentrate. 

 

“Credence,” he called softly – and caught a strange little movement in the corner of his eye. 

 

               The storm was swirling slowly near the wall, just under the slanting ceiling.  It looked more like a dark fog now – quiet and almost peaceful. 

 

               Harry made his way towards it, pausing when the storm – no, _Credence_ – trembled.  The smoke grew darker, pulsing. 

 

“Hey,” Harry said, looking up at it. 

 

               The smoke hissed, and swirled – nervously, fearfully. 

 

“It’s alright – Credence, it’s just me.  It’s Harry, I’m here…” 

 

               A plaintive, hissing sound. 

 

“Okay.  It’s okay…  Would you like to come down?” Harry offered, and the smoke trembled again. 

 

               He was about to backtrack, when he realized that the smoke was moving downwards, along the wall.  It swirled and shook and grew darker, more concentrated, dissipating in other places at the same time – until Credence was crouched on the floor, gazing at Harry with his sad, uncertain eyes. 

 

               There was fear in them, too, and Harry sighed. 

 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly.  “Can I – can I come over?” 

 

               They were still for a few moments, and then Credence gave a small nod.  Harry smiled. 

 

“Great,” he said, and crossed the room – carefully. 

 

               He stopped next to Credence, and leaned back against the wall, sliding down to sit, as well.  With a grunt, he stretched his legs out, and realized that he was woefully, horribly tired despite the nap he took just a few hours ago.  It was one hell of an evening. 

 

“I think Draco should be almost done patching up that room by now,” he said pensively.  “Not that it’s important, of course, but it’s better to leave things neat and tidy during an investigation.  And that place was a _mess_ …  But, you know, magic.  Fixes everything, it’s awesome.” 

 

               Credence glanced over at him, and said nothing, so Harry kept on talking. 

 

“I still have to write all the reports myself, though.  Which is a pain, but what can you do.  Bureaucracy is the same everywhere, papers and writing and all that crap…” 

 

“Harry…” 

 

               Harry felt his face stretch into a grin all on its own. 

 

“What?” 

 

“What are you doing here?..” Credence asked.  His voice was barely audible, and unsure. 

 

               Harry shrugged. 

 

“Talking.  Like people generally do with friends.  I don’t know.” 

 

               Credence looked up, turning his head – his eyes were red, and a little too bright, and he was staring at Harry as if he was afraid to look away. 

 

“I – I thought you wouldn’t want to…  To be friends with me after this,” he mumbled, and Harry let out a scoff. 

 

“What, after you saved my life?..  Yeah, right.  Totally.  That’s the dealbreaker.” 

 

               Credence didn’t answer.  He just let out a little breath, still trembling lightly – so Harry just smiled, because there wasn’t much else he could do. 

 

“We’re friends, Credence,” he said softly.  “That’s not going to change.  I was friends with the storm, too.” 

 

“How…” Credence began, and trailed off. 

 

“You found me in my dreams, remember?” Harry nudged his shoulder.  “And I – I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner, actually.  I should’ve recognized you or something.” 

 

“It’s alright,” Credence murmured. 

 

               He almost smiled, and Harry grinned back. 

 

               Maybe everything _would_ be alright, after all.  The storm raged outside, but they were safe, down in the dungeons.  The wind was kind when it reached them, and sparks were twirling on Harry’s fingers. 

 

“Do you wanna hold them?” he asked. 

 

“What?..” 

 

“The sparks,” Harry clarified.  He twisted around, so that they were facing each other.  “In my hand.  Do you wanna hold them?” 

 

               Credence’s eyes flickered to his face. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah.  Uh, if you…  Just cup your hands together, I’ll show you.” 

 

“I – ” 

 

               Credence was silent.  His face seemed torn with some internal battle as he sat next to Harry, completely still – until he finally put his hands together, and held them out, just a little bit.  His shoulders were tense, and his fingers shook, as he fought the desire to hide them again. 

 

               Harry moved slowly and carefully as he shifted closer.  He let the sparks stumble together, bright and golden, and then he poured them – carefully – into Credence’s cupped hands, his fingers barely brushing against his scarred palm. 

 

               Credence’s eyes widened as the sparks pooled there, like a puddle of liquid gold – before flitting up, to resume their nonsensical dance.  They flickered and shone in his hands, just above the skin. 

 

“Oh…” he breathed, and Harry grinned. 

 

“Knew you could do it.” 

 

“What are they?..” Credence whispered. 

 

               Harry smiled. 

 

“Magic,” he said.  “Just magic.” 

 

               He sat back, leaning against the wall.  It was cold, even through his jacket, but not too much, and he relaxed.  Hesitantly – tentatively – Credence moved, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, and tension seemed to ebb from his body as he stared silently at the warm, dancing glow in his hands.  

 

               Harry finally managed to free his arm from where it was trapped between them, and let it wrap around Credence’s shoulders.  It seemed more comfortable that way – and safer. 

 

               They weren’t talking, they didn’t move, and yet it was somehow wonderful. 

 

               Footsteps echoed somewhere above them, descending and coming closer, almost lazily.  A moving light bounced on the stairs, gliding into the room.  It was silver and pale, and illuminated the hall steadily, and Harry smiled. 

 

“We’re in here,” he called – even though at this point, he didn’t have to. 

 

“No shit,” Draco’s voice responded. 

 

               Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway.  Something inside Harry leaped at seeing him, and he smiled, unable to keep it in. 

 

               Then again, there were still serious matters to attend to – he gave an internal groan. 

 

“How’s the evil double?”

 

“Fine,” Draco replied.  “Alive – Petrified _and_ bound, just in case.” 

 

“Hm.  You healed him, then?” 

 

               Draco nodded, crossing the room over to them. 

 

“Not that he deserved it,” he muttered, and Credence glanced up at him – his eyes flickering back to his pool of sparks almost immediately. 

 

               Harry chuckled. 

 

“What were the injuries?” 

 

               Draco paused. 

 

“Nothing much,” he said eventually.  “Broken ribs, leg, and tailbone – twisted arm…  Broken nose, and a light concussion.  All healed on the spot, minimal need for any further treatment – and that’s mostly due to the head blow.” 

 

“Great…  Hold on, he hit that wall with – what happened to his nose?” Harry frowned. 

 

               Draco hummed, rocking slightly on his heels. 

 

“Nothing you can prove.” 

 

               There was a proud, beautiful smirk on his face, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh aloud. 

 

“Merlin, this is perfect,” he said, once he was done.  “I love you, did you know that?..” 

 

“Hm.  I believe I did,” Draco drawled, his voice seemingly unaffected – but his eyes shone with warmth as he looked down at Harry. 

 

               Harry grinned, and something inside him felt so light, he thought he might fly.  Draco smiled back, and sat down as well – on Credence’s other side – letting his head fall back against the wall.  The smile wandered on his face still. 

 

 

 

“Hey, Harry?..” Draco spoke, after a while. 

 

“Yeah?..” 

 

“Do you think it’s weird for two guys to adopt another guy who’s like, three years younger than them?” Draco asked seriously. 

 

               Harry heard Credence’s breath hitch, and chuckled softly, under his breath. 

 

“No,” he said finally.  “I don’t think it’s weird at all.” 

 

 

 

               Credence was still holding Harry’s hand when they emerged from the passage in his room.  It was quiet, and deserted – the rest of the castle’s inhabitants were sitting in the East Wing, with Queenie’s wards guarding the door.  Harry wondered what Dr. Bai thought of the whole thing.  Then again, she was due to find out about magic next year, anyhow – whenever Modesty’s Hogwarts letter would arrive. 

 

“You know, you could’ve at least fixed the door once you blew it,” Draco mused, as he strolled towards the gaping hole it left.  “For shame, Harry.  Shame.” 

 

“Eh,” Harry waved him off.  “It takes a flick.  I’ll just do it now.” 

 

“Like – like you did the reception room?..” Credence asked. 

 

“Yeah,” Harry grinned.  “Exactly like that.” 

 

               He pulled out his wand, and the door groaned, ambling back into its place.  Draco stepped out of the way daintily, and watched as its hinges clicked whole. 

 

“Not bad,” he hummed with approval.  “Not bad at all.  I think you managed to even polish the hinges a little this time.”

 

“Why, thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Harry sighed. 

 

               Draco sniffed. 

 

“I meant it, you know,” he grumbled.  “It was nice.” 

 

“I know,” Harry smiled.  “Now come on – they’ll be waiting for us…  And I really fucking want a muffin.” 

 

               So they all followed him out of the newly-repaired door. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“And, well…  I suppose that’s all,” Draco said, picking up his mug. 

 

               They were all seated in a warm, cozy room in the East Wing, where they’d headed straight after leaving the dungeons.  The greeting committee was, for the lack of a better word, wild – Modesty’s shriek of _Credence!_ had pierced the quiet, Queenie had somehow managed to nearly crush three people in her embrace – Jacob was helping, but still.  Charlotte did try to escape her chokehold, but failed miserably… 

 

               And Dr. Bai waited until all of that was over, walked over to Draco, and demanded information.  So there he was. 

 

“So, what you’re saying – the fans, the garden – all of that was Adam?” Jacob asked, frowning. 

 

“Yes,” Draco nodded.  “Oh, and I don’t know if you’ve seen the ghost woman, but that was him as well…  By the way, the apparition looked uncannily like you, Charlotte.  He was bent on incriminating you for some reason.” 

 

“God.  I swear, when I get my hands on him…” she muttered darkly, and Draco sighed. 

 

“Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to injure the perpetrator in any way.  Regrettable, but such is the law.” 

 

“I’d let her,” Harry butted in. 

 

“I know,” Draco nodded.  “And he will be punished thoroughly, even if it’s through the Muggle system – I expect the Ministry to supervise, anyway…  But if we let everybody do whatever they want to him, we’ll have a murder on our hands, and they’re quite difficult to cover up, let me tell you.” 

 

               Modesty laughed.  She was perched happily on Credence’s shoulders, and Draco sympathized with him absent-mindedly – though Credence didn’t seem to mind.  He was sitting under a pile of blankets, in a large, soft armchair, with a mug of Queenie’s cocoa cradled in his hands, and his face was the happiest Draco had ever seen him – despite looking a little overwhelmed. 

 

“And – and you’ve done that before?” Dr. Bai raised her eyebrows, and then seemed to think better of it.  “You know what, never mind, don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know.” 

 

               Draco smirked. 

 

“I suppose you don’t.” 

 

“But I still don’t understand,” Queenie interrupted, casting a quick Warming Charm at Dr. Bai’s abandoned mug.  “Why did he fake a haunting?  What could possibly be gained from this?” 

 

               Harry sighed. 

 

“I suppose it’s…  Well, it’s our fault in a way,” he said.  “The ghost was his backup plan, in case there were non-staff people in the castle – to scare them off.  I mean, it didn’t work on us, because we weren’t really hikers, but…  Yeah.” 

 

“He ran into us during our first sweep,” Draco added.  “In the West Wing.  Been suspicious ever since.” 

 

               Modesty giggled. 

 

“And then you just kept fixing all of his ghosty stuff instead of getting scared,” she nodded appreciatively.  “That’s awesome.” 

 

“Wonder why he kept doing it, after none of it worked,” Jacob grunted.  “Man, I could’ve done without those fans.  They were a _pain_.” 

 

“They were…  And they were largely pointless, too,” Draco confirmed.  “The problem is – he’d gotten, uh, _addicted_ to it.  Just to the feeling of having everyone inconvenienced, mildly creeped out…  And then there was Credence, who was absolutely terrified, and Adam – he liked having that power over him.” 

 

“Sadistic arse,” Harry muttered, and nobody corrected his language this time. 

 

               Charlotte huffed. 

 

“Just the fact that somebody was heartless enough to do this…  And he messed with my garden, too,” she almost growled.  “I can’t get _over_ that sight – ” 

 

“It…  It wasn’t Adam,” Credence said quietly – speaking for the first time since they got there.  His voice was a little squeaky.  “It was me – I’m, I’m so sorry, Charlotte – ” 

 

“What?” she blinked, turning to him confusedly.  “Credence, what are you talking about?..” 

 

“The – the garden,” he whispered.  “I ruined it, it was me…” 

 

“And it’s perfectly fine now, so don’t worry about it,” Harry told him.  “Actually, I don’t think Charlotte ever knew.  She was talking about the flowerbeds – weren’t you?” 

 

               He turned to her, and she nodded. 

 

“Yes – just that…  Oh dear, what else was there?” 

 

“A highly localized hurricane,” Draco said.  “But, as Harry said, it’s back in prime condition.  He fixed it, no harm done.” 

 

“I’m sorry…” Credence murmured, and fell silent, clutching at his mug. 

 

               Modesty hugged his head. 

 

“It’s not your fault,” she said with conviction.  “It wasn’t _ever_ your fault.” 

 

“That fu – Adam – he drove you to it,” Harry spoke up.  “And don’t say that you shouldn’t have _reacted_ to it or some shit.  He knew exactly what he was doing, he _wanted_ you to fall apart.” 

 

“I – I almost killed him,” Credence said quietly. 

 

“Well…  Okay, yeah, true,” Harry admitted.  “Nobody really expected the way it would happen, yes.  But seriously, even if you did off him, I’d probably hide you from the authorities in my own house.” 

 

“The Manor’s bigger,” Draco said.  “And we have dungeons.” 

 

“Yeah, but nobody would look in the Chosen One’s home, would they?” Harry grinned, and turned back to Credence.  “Anyway, point is – you couldn’t have changed it.  You couldn’t have found a way to control this, not without help.” 

 

“I’m – I’m not sure I follow,” said Dr. Bai.  “Control _what_ , exactly?” 

 

“The storm,” Credence whispered.  “I’m – it’s like there’s a thunderstorm under my skin…” 

 

“It’s an _Obscurus_ ,” Modesty volunteered proudly.  “It’s _magic_.” 

 

“Hold up,” Jacob sighed, and set his muffin aside.  “What’s an Obscurus?” 

 

               Draco was silent for a while, mulling over his answer. 

 

“It’s a UDM condition,” he said eventually.  “Uncontrolled Destructive Magic, highly specific.  Results after years of being forced to repress one’s natural abilities, and usually occurs in abused children.” 

 

“Oh,” Queenie breathed – and in that moment, Draco could’ve sworn that Credence’s mug spontaneously refilled. 

 

“Basically, that storm Credence was talking about is just an expression of his magic,” he continued.  “Under stress, the hidden power bursts out, and proceeds to vent its anger – and then goes dormant again.  That’s why the surges went unnoticed for so long…” 

 

“And then there was that three-year gap,” Harry added.  He glanced over at Credence.  “Uh – if you don’t mind me asking – what’s happened then?” 

 

               Credence chewed on his lip. 

 

“I – I was away,” he said with a little shrug.  “University of Glasgow – I, uh, got accepted…  But then she – she brought me back…” 

 

“So the surges started again – even stronger,” Draco nodded his understanding.  “That’s…  Logical, I guess.  The Obscurus _is_ a protective mechanism of sorts.” 

 

“It doesn’t do much protecting,” Credence mumbled, and Draco sighed. 

 

“It’s your magic, linked directly to your emotions,” he said.  “You can’t expect those to be harmless.  And, for what it’s worth – it did protect you.  And Harry, too.” 

 

“Thanks, by the way,” Harry grinned. 

 

               Credence was silent.  He stared into his mug, motionless and blind to everything around him, even as Modesty played with his hair.  Draco was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to say anything at all to this – when he finally spoke. 

 

“How do I get rid of it?” he asked. 

 

               Draco raised his eyebrows. 

 

“What?” 

 

“The – the Obscurus,” Credence said, his voice growing fainter.  “How do I get rid of it?..  Is it a – a potion, or – a spell?..” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

               Draco sat back, chewing on his lip.  Merlin, this was difficult.  Harry would’ve been better at this – except he didn’t know anything about Obscurials, so he couldn’t tell Credence anything…  This was on him alone. 

 

               He could only hope he’d say it right. 

 

“It’s not anything,” he said softly.  “Not anything that would cause an instant cure, at least.  You can’t remove your Obscurus – it’s part of you.  Your magic.  It would be like tearing your soul apart.” 

 

“There’s nothing?..” Credence whispered, and it seemed like something broke in his eyes. 

 

“No, I didn’t say that,” Draco said hastily.  Great, he’s fucked up already.  “I meant – there’s no cure in the usual sense of it.  But there’s treatment.  Recovery.  Now that you’re free to use your magic, you can learn to do it properly – channel it in controlled ways, instead of having it react to emotion.  It might still happen, but not like it does now.  Trust me, even Harry went through this,” he added at a whim. 

 

               Credence blinked. 

 

“Really?..” he asked, with a glance at Harry. 

 

“Oh, god.  Yeah, really,” Harry snorted.  “I once blew up my aunt like a balloon.  I mean, she was horrible, but yeah.  Still.  Flew away somewhere, until the Ministry caught up.” 

 

“What I mean is – you’ve got time,” Draco said.  “And, well…  Hogwarts might not be an option, but you can receive homeschooling – you’ll get a wand and all that.  You’ll learn to live with it, learn magic – me and Harry, we could teach you…  And eventually, someday, you’ll look into the sky and breathe and realize that you’re free.  Like you’ve never imagined you could be.” 

 

“I could teach you how to fly,” Harry offered.  “Well, not that you need it – but I meant like, on a broom?  It’s fun…  God, you’ll love it.” 

 

“Oh,” Credence exhaled. 

 

               Something in him choked up, and he hid his face, staring down at the mug again.  Slowly, he took a sip, and frowned, surprised to find the cocoa still warm. 

 

“It’s a Warming Charm,” explained Modesty importantly.  “Queenie puts it on all the mugs.” 

 

“Hm.  I suppose that does explain some things,” he said softly, and almost smiled. 

 

               She grinned, and settled into a more comfortable position on his shoulders – like a large, skinny cat that holds the undisputable and eternal right to claim any surface she deems fit.  And woe be to those that dare attempt to shift her over. 

 

               Meanwhile, Harry turned to Charlotte, having apparently remembered something. 

 

“Hey – uh, I still had a question,” he told her with an awkward grin. 

 

“Ah.  Okay then, Mr. Potter,” she smiled.  “Ask away.” 

 

“While we were conducting our investigation,” he began carefully, “we were forced to look into your background – well, everyone’s background, actually.  And, uh, there was something strange about yours, and it’s been bugging me since then, and uh…  Yeah, sorry.” 

 

               She raised her eyebrows. 

 

“Something strange?” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “Er, Draco’s scan confirmed that you’re a Squib?..  But neither of your parents ever attended Hogwarts.  So, uh…  How?” 

 

               Charlotte stared at him for a moment.  Her face crinkled into a frown – and then, suddenly, with hardly a warning, she started laughing. 

 

“You’ve been looking for the wrong people,” she giggled, barely managing to catch her breath.  “I’m sorry – it’s just, this has never come up for as long as they lived, but…  _Now_ , of all times…” 

 

               She snorted again, and tried to stifle the laughter.  Her shoulders shook with mirth. 

 

               Draco and Harry exchanged confused frowns. 

 

“What do you mean, the wrong people?” Draco asked.  “Were you – were you adopted?” 

 

“Nope,” she told him, smiling rather smugly.  “The truth is so much more dramatic.  I love it, personally…  But point is, you were looking for a Frank Roswell and a Laura Lyons, weren’t you?” 

 

               Draco paused. 

 

“Well…  Yes,” he said finally.  “Why?” 

 

“Those weren’t their real names,” Charlotte said triumphantly.  “They changed them when they eloped, you see – my mother was of a rather traditional Pureblood family, and my father was Muggleborn.  It was a star-crossed match, I suppose – her family would’ve been violently opposed to the idea, had they known at all…  So, yes.  I have a fake last name.” 

 

               Harry stared. 

 

“Okay,” he said.  “That’s…  That _is_ kinda dramatic.” 

 

               Draco sighed. 

 

“What were their real names, at least?” he asked. 

 

“Well,” Charlotte said.  “My father’s name was actually William Creswell – I always thought his false one was a little…  Uninventive?..  And my mother…  I suppose her name might mean something to you, Draco – you’re a Pureblood, aren’t you?” 

 

“Yes?” he raised his eyebrows.  Oh, Merlin’s fucking pants.  What now?.. 

 

               Charlotte smiled. 

 

“Her name was Leta Lestrange,” she said. 

 

 

 

               Draco’s decided, that very day, that no time was ever wrong for an existential crisis.  Thus, while Harry’s shocked face gave way to comprehension and then to laughter, he sat in his chair, mute.  It’s been proven again, hasn’t it?..  Liminal spaces – or whatever Harry was talking about.  This castle was mad.  It was a place where no law of reality would ever hold. 

 

“We’re related,” he said, dumbstruck.  “Merlin, I’d thought you might be a Barebone – oh, dear Merlin, we’re related.” 

 

               Charlotte perked up, and sat up straighter. 

 

“Wait,” she said.  “We are?” 

 

“Yeah,” Draco nodded miserably.  “Through my uncle – well, uncle-by-marriage, and my aunt…  Both of them war criminals, by the way – do what you will with this genealogy.” 

 

“I see,” Charlotte hummed pensively, and then brightened.  “But oh, this is so _exciting!.._   I’ve never had siblings before – not even a cousin…” 

 

               Draco snorted. 

 

“After all that crap I just told you about our family?” 

 

“They don’t matter,” she shrugged.  “I like you, that’s enough…  So, yes, before you ask – you’re invited for Christmas.  Or New Year’s!  Whichever.” 

 

“That’s so sweet,” Queenie chuckled.  “A family reunion.” 

 

“Yes, heartwarming,” Draco sighed.  “I suppose I’ll consider the invitation…  But I’m afraid we won’t have much time to catch up right now.” 

 

               Charlotte blinked. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“The investigation is technically complete,” Draco explained.  “We’re supposed to be heading back to London now, writing a ton of reports – it’ll be a mess.” 

 

               The room had gone strangely quiet again, and he suddenly felt uneasy, like he’d said something wrong.  Again – Merlin, every time, why couldn’t he ever say things nicely – he never meant to offend anyone, did he?..  But they _did_ have to leave soon, and Savage would be waiting for that report –

 

“We could stay,” Harry said softly.

 

               Draco started, jolted out of his thoughts.     

 

“What?” 

 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged.  “We could – for a week or so, maybe.  Owl the report to the office, let Dawlish deal with it.” 

 

“Credence’s birthday is like, in three days,” Jacob added. 

 

“It – it is,” Credence confirmed, his eyes hopeful. 

 

“You wouldn’t want to miss it,” Queenie winked.  “I’m making a cake – like you’ve never seen, I promise.” 

 

               She smiled warmly, and Draco made an extra effort to Occlude his mind. 

 

“Well – ” he began, but Modesty’s chant interrupted him mid-word. 

 

“Stay!  Stay!  Stay!” 

 

“Hm.  It seems you’re outnumbered, Mr. Malfoy,” Dr. Bai smirked. 

 

               Draco sighed – almost groaning – and sat back in his chair, casting Harry a helpless glance.  Harry grinned – his green eyes bright and sparkling. 

 

“Come on, Draco,” he said.  “When was the last time you took a holiday?” 

 

 


	12. Several Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, uh - so, that's it! 
> 
> _Changeling_ is officially complete, and I would like to thank all of you who stuck with this story from the beginning, and until the very end. It means the world to me, really - and I can only hope that I've helped brighten your day, at least sometimes, with this clusterfuck of a detective drama. 
> 
> And please, please remember - all of you who need it - that there are more bright days, happy days, coming your way. There is always hope, as long as you're still alive.
> 
> Cheers.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

               The morning that day was crisp and golden as an apple – at least, that’s what the forecast guy said the night before, and at the moment, Harry had no reason to distrust him.  His eyes were closed, and he was floating in that quiet sleepy bliss, feeling comforted in every inch of his body.  This day was going to be beautiful – he just knew it. 

 

               A kiss was pressed to his shoulder, and he felt himself smile – without even trying. 

 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

               Draco’s voice was a little hoarse, just like it always was this early in the morning.  His hand traveled along Harry’s side and found his hand, lacing their fingers together – and, just like he did every time this happened, Harry thought he might melt. 

 

“I’m falling asleep again,” he mumbled. 

 

“So?..” 

 

“I caaan’t,” he groaned regretfully.  “It’s almost time.” 

 

               Draco’s forehead nudged his back. 

 

“I know,” he said.  “But not for another ten minutes or so.  I took the spell off.” 

 

               Harry grinned. 

 

“Good,” he decided, and pressed closer to Draco’s bare chest. 

 

“Hm.” 

 

               They lay there together, basking in each other’s presence.  Their warmth wrapped around them, and Harry felt peaceful.  The last, frantic week was over and done with – Savage was probably glaring at the ferret doodle on page nine of his report right now – and he was here, with Draco, having taken their traditional week off to catch the best, fleeting days of summer. 

 

               It was so, so incredibly peaceful. 

 

“Did you wrap the gift yesterday?..” Draco asked.  His voice was slightly muffled by Harry’s own hair. 

 

               His breath tickled a little, and Harry chuckled. 

 

“Yeah,” he said.  “Did you write the card?” 

 

“You insult me,” Draco sniffed.  “Of course, I did…  I am looking forward to it, you know.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“I like birthdays,” Draco said pensively.  “It’s like celebrating survival, isn’t it?..  Everybody congratulates you for literally just existing.” 

 

               Harry frowned and rolled over to face him.  The bed creaked as he flopped around, trying to find a new comfortable position. 

 

“Really?” he asked, having settled down.  “You like birthdays?” 

 

“Yes,” Draco shrugged.  “What’s so odd about that?” 

 

               His face was a sharp outline against the pale blur of the window, but Harry was close enough to see his expression – and it was soft.  Smiling, a little.  A bit sleepy and ruffled. 

 

“Well, it’s just…  You’re horrible at birthdays,” Harry said.  “I didn’t think you’d enjoy them much.” 

 

               Draco gave an indignant huff. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” he declared. 

 

“Ron’s birthday party?..” Harry prompted. 

 

“What about it?” Draco raised an unaffected eyebrow.  “I believe it went rather well – ” 

 

“Draco, you gave him a red-headed jack-in-the-box,” Harry groaned.  “It sang _Pop Goes the Weasel!_ ”   

 

               Draco burst out laughing.  It was so full of mirth that Harry was beginning to find it difficult to maintain a severe expression. 

 

“Where did you even find that thing?” he grumbled – mostly because his conscience dictated that he defend Ron’s honour for a little while longer. 

 

“Some thrift shop in Muggle London,” Draco shrugged, his satisfied grin still resting, cat-like, on his face.  “How was I supposed to resist?..” 

 

“Pfft.” 

 

“It was perfect, Harry,” Draco sighed nostalgically.  “Perfect in every way.  Like me.” 

 

               Harry gave up, and let out a snicker. 

 

“Yeah, right.  Absolute perfection.” 

 

“Exactly,” Draco said, smirking, and then Harry leaned over, and kissed his smug, stupid, beautiful face. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

               Fully clothed, Harry was hastily dragging a last-minute toothbrush over his teeth. 

 

“Hurry up!” Draco’s voice came floating in from the hall.  “The Portkey’s due in two minutes!” 

 

“Ahnoo,” Harry called back through his mouth full of toothpaste, before spitting in the sink. 

 

               He rinsed the brush and stuck it back into the glass.  It bumped awkwardly against Draco’s, and Harry had a weird passing vision of toothbrushes making out. 

 

“Wah-whoa,” Draco mimicked.  “Harry, I love you, but seriously, hurry – you’re _not_ Apparating this distance again – ” 

 

“I’m here, I’m here!”

 

               Harry sprinted down the rickety stairs of Grimmauld Place, nearly tripping over the polished shoes that Kreacher had caringly left at the bottom. 

 

“Almost – done,” he huffed, shoving his feet into his old, tattered trainers.  “Done.” 

 

“Nine seconds, Harry – ” 

 

               Draco held out the large, ugly candelabra.  They’d planned on getting rid of it for ages – except it was a gift, from some Ministry bigwig colleague or other, so it had to be put to some good use, at least.  A Portkey accomplished both. 

 

               Harry grabbed his bag, and barely managed to touch his finger to the ornate metal before Draco’s panicky “ _Now!_ ” – and then an invisible hook yanked on his stomach.  They were flying through the air. 

 

 

 

               When Harry’s feet finally hit the ground again, there was a fresh, fog-scented wind in his face, and the sky was a symphony of colours above him.  The sun was crawling tentatively upwards, just above the burning horizon, but the clouds from the night’s rain still lingered. 

 

“Argh, fuck,” Draco shivered, plastering himself almost entirely over Harry.  “It’s fucking _cold_ …” 

 

“Told you to wear a jacket, idiot,” Harry scolded lovingly, tracing Draco’s knuckles as his hands clenched around Harry’s middle. 

 

“Pfft, yeah.  And then you walked down the stairs wearing a T-shirt,” Draco muttered sulkily, and sighed.  “Can you see him yet?” 

 

               Harry squinted at the rocky hilltops. 

 

“Uh, not yet…  But the sunrise is beautiful, isn’t it?” he sighed contentedly. 

 

               Draco was silent for a moment.  The sunrise glowed and shimmered before them, brilliant and alive – and Harry felt alive, too, just because the sky was. 

 

“Yes,” Draco said eventually.  “It is.” 

 

               Harry’s heart leapt.  He felt all warm inside, despite the chilly air – and for some reason, he just couldn’t stop looking at their hands, which were linked together.   

 

“Whoa – whoa, Beauty!..  Now keep right…” 

 

               He started, and looked up. 

 

               A unicorn had appeared at the top of the hill, his freshly healed flanks glistening icily in the morning sun.  His rider was patting his neck gently – a living shadow on the unicorn’s back. 

 

“We’re almost there…  You’re doing great, Beauty,” he was saying softly, and Harry felt everything inside him swell with pride. 

 

               As the unicorn stepped gingerly around a boulder, the rider looked up.  He looked so much better now, Harry thought – healthier, and well-rested – more alive… 

 

“Would you look at that,” Draco hummed next to him.  “Our son, all grown up…  No longer a zombie...” 

 

               Harry laughed, and raised his hand, waving it almost frantically as the unicorn approached – carefully, slowly, making his way down into the valley as his rider whispered encouragement.  It was beautiful – and Harry couldn’t help but grin.  He was happy – happier than he’d ever been, because maybe, _maybe_ everything was finally alright. 

 

               Their eyes met, and Credence smiled. 

 

 

THE END


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